Twenty Six
The girl moaned as her head slammed against the brick wall and pushed forwards again, bouncing, hanging loosely like a dead flower at the end of her wilted, withered neck. Spot moved in close, empty veins twisting inside of him at the stench of blood that surrounded her and crusted on her lips. Everything about her was so small and weak, it made him feel sick deep inside his body. His emotions seemed to whirl around in his mind, as water would whirl before it was sucked down into the darkness of a drain pipe. He curled his fingers tighter into her arms and bared his teeth. He hated her, and everything that she stood for, a race of inferior, weak humans that were simply begging to be turned into prey for his kind.
"You surprised?" He growled up close, mouth almost brushing her lips as he spoke, the words drawn out of him painful, as though he was extracting a knife from his gut. "You shocked that suddenly you're staring death in the face? Huh?"
"Please…" The girl whimpered again. Spot's flesh seemed to sear at his skin. "Is that all you can say?" He demanded, his voice raspy in his throat.
"Please? Don't kill me? I don't wanna die?" The girl sobbed harder, her body jerking back and forth under his hands. She weakly tried to push herself off the wall, but his hands lifted her higher, pressing her back into the brick, lifting her off her feet. Spot moved in closer, tilting his head up a fraction, barely able to resist the powerful pounding throughout his body. When he spoke, his voice was a ragged growl.
"Do you know," he asked her, "how long it has been since I have fed?"
"I…I…" the girl sobbed, her jagged, barbed wire hair jutting out over the lost blue of her eyes. Spot shook her once more, letting her back hit the wall again, letting her cry out and slump against him once more.
"I said…do you know how long it has been since I have fed?"
"No…" The girl broke out, "Please, just let me go. I'll do anything, just let me…"
"You're going to die," Spot said, his breath rough and his tone hurried. He moved closer, feeling the forbidden warmth of her body hum at his skin. "You're going to die right here. I'm going to kill you. Someone's going to find your body tomorrow, but you're going to be gone." The girl moaned loudly, but Spot ignored her, feeling the words spill out. "I'm going to bite you," he told her, relishing in the sound of the phrase on his tongue. "And I'm going to rip and tear at you until there's nothing left, until I'm not hungry anymore. Until I'm not fucking hungry anymore, you understand?"
"Don't…"
"This is going to be so sweet," Spot said, his voice broken by the low strains of laughter. "This is going to be so, so sweet…" The girl's sobs broke anew, washing over the rim of her eyes and breaking against the sharp ridge of her jaw line. She was shaking her head and moving her fingers and shoulders, trying to push herself off the wall and away, but she couldn't move past Spot's hands. Spot moved his face up a fraction of an inch as she pushed her face away, the moonlight catching on an intricate web of scratches moving out from the corner of her eye, still fairly fresh in her skin. Spot pulled his lips back, baring his teeth, feeling them grit together and clench tightly. Jaw locked, he pressed his face against her throat, the delicious warmth pulsing through her making his whole body simply ache in a longing that he hadn't known possible. He inhaled deeply, catching the scent of blueberries and salt mingled with her flesh and blood. "I'm going to bite you," he said evenly, enjoying the way she drew in breath and stiffened, chest shaking with sobs that had been forced back.
"Look at me," he demanded, pulling back and letting his gaze drill against her skin. "Look at me, for Christ's sake," he rasped, grabbing the arc of her chin with one hand and wrenching her gaze to his. The curve of her eyes widened as they caught in his own, freezing in her face as their stares interlocked. Spot's chest was shaking too, and his eyes were flashing with shock and fury and a thousand different emotions desperately trying to clench at his mind as they faded. "I'm going to bite you," he said again, watching the fear flare in her gaze. "And I'm going to drain you, pull at every last drop of blood in your body until there is nothing left of you anymore." He paused, and felt his face twist into a sneer that was entwined with passion and sadness and a deep, aching longing. He held her gaze for what seemed like eternity in that one moment. His lips parted, and the words seemed to pull out from inside of him. "And then I'm going to laugh."
He moved in, hands clenching at her skin, pulling her body towards him. The girl cried and crumpled in his arms, sobbing wildly and whispering his name to his throat as he pressed his mouth against her forehead in a fierce kiss, and then her temple, the rise of her cheekbone, the scarred corners of her eyes, the shining skin of her eyelids and the soft curve of her jaw line. And then, as her arms snaked up against his chest, he pulled her towards him in a fierce embrace, clutching her to him as though he could never bear to let go.
Shade was barely aware of anything anymore. The room only served as a backdrop, the smooth gentle voice of the cop as a strange buzzing in her ears, rising and falling in tone, laying every fact out before her eyes. She found her knees weakening, and before she knew it, she had collapsed into a hard wooden chair that had been pressed up against the back of her legs. The only focal point that seemed to exist was the sight of the skinny, beaten girl on the other side of the looking glass, staring tersely ahead of her and twisting her fingers against one another, as though waiting. Shade couldn't believe it. Only moments ago, this girl was dead.
"Can…is…can she see me?" She asked breathlessly, as Misprint's eyes darted around the room and landed gently on the mirror. Shade could have sworn that their gazes met, and she moved to get up from the chair, but in the next second Misprint had flinched visibly and looked down at her hands again, a slight flush coloring the bruises on her cheeks. Shade's eyebrows pulled in against one another, and the cop laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, as though preventing her from standing.
"No," he told her. "It's a two way mirror. We can see her, but she can't see us."
So in Shade's eyes, Misprint had only seen her own reflection. No wonder she had flinched. Shade's blood seemed to boil within her veins as her eyes began to travel over her friend. She was wearing a pair of pajamas that looked as though they belonged to someone else, someone who was not as small as she seemed to be under the harsh, yellow pool of light in the dark, dark room. She was tidy and clean and strung together at the seams, but her skin was sore and dark with bruises, and patches of flesh were swollen and raised on her pale body. Both eyes were puffy with purple swells, and the jagged, stitched line of a scar on her chin barely kissed her bottom lip, which was swollen slightly, making her whole face seemed sad and heavy. Shade's fingers clenched tightly around the arm rests of the chair, and she knew that her eyes were flashing with anger in the most frightening way.
The cop was still speaking, his smooth voice almost like concrete, heavy and solidifying in the pit of her stomach. Misprint had been found unconscious outside the hospital where the nurses had recognized her photo from the paper…she had been cleaned and stitched up and the authorities had been notified…after some questioning, she and Shade would be escorted back to the school where they would not attend classes for a period of a month or longer if need be…while Misprint was suffering from no long term damage, the emotional damage would be greater and she would need to be treated with extreme caution and consideration…
"Who did this to her?" Shade forced out through clenched teeth. The cop paused in his speech, and glanced down once at the girl in the chair.
Her shadowy reflection on the mirror made his stomach contract slightly. Every angle and line in her face seemed to radiate power and anger that felt strong enough to break glass and skin. He cleared his throat.
"That's what we mean to find out in the questioning, Ms. Mayer," He said gently. "Detective Locklair will be in to begin the procedure very soon…at that point you will be escorted to a separate room."
Shade's head was buzzing. The sight of her friend was enough to keep her in shock for days, but the words seemed to ring an alarm bell deep in the corners of her mind. She thought of Detective Locklair's harsh, dark edges and her friends bruised fragility. Misprint accidentally ripped open a scab on her finger and winced, her face crumpling like a bruised fruit, and she brought it to her mouth and gently pressed it to her lips. The blood stained her skin.
"Don't let him…don't let him say shit to her," Shade said, as the cop helped her up from the chair.
"Don't let him make her say shit that she doesn't mean…don't…tell him to…"
"Detective Locklair has been on the force for upwards of fifteen years," The cop told her reassuringly. "He knows how to handle these cases."
"Can I see her?" Shade asked, as her guide turned her towards the door. Her head twisted backwards to stare at her friend, unable to tear her eyes away. The sight of her moving and breathing and living made her want to reel backwards, it was the unexpected, crushingly powerful wake up call from the hellish nightmare that no longer seemed like it had happened at all. "Can I talk to her?"
The cop sighed, and Shade caught a note of regret in his tone. Shade glanced at the door once to stop from stumbling, her mind still burning with Misprint's image.
"I'm afraid not. We don't want…it's best she gets the preliminary questioning over with. The faster it gets done, the faster you two will get to see each other again." Shade twisted around once more, desperate. Misprint had pulled her finger hastily away from her mouth, and had a horrified expression on her face, the blood still shining on her lips and tongue. Shade felt like crying. They didn't want them to see one another so they couldn't come up with a cover story, something that was plausible and legal and easily solved. They wanted to know what had happened to her. Shade wanted to know what had happened to her. Before she could get one last look at her friend, the dark shadow of Detective Locklair pushed it's way into the window, and his voice buzzed steely and indifferent over the speakers.
"Detective Locklair, Ms. McAlester."
Shade was pushed out the door.
Misprint felt as though she was hollow, as though her insides had been burned away over the past few months. She hesitated, and then raised her eyes until they were caught up in the gaze of the detective sitting across from her. Locklair. He had introduced himself when he walked in, in a brisk, dark voice that made it seem as though he hadn't meant to speak to her at all. And now he just sat, watching her, his eyes skimming over her wounds and narrowing in repulsion. Something about him told her to keep her silence, even though questions were pushing at the thin insides of her lips. What's going on? Why won't anyone explain anything to me? Why am I in this room? I want to go home…
She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze back to her hands, which were gripping her kneecaps so tight, she was certain they would snap in her very fingers. They were so thin…she was amazed at the way her bones protruded even farther than they had before, and criss crossed in outlines across her body. She didn't know her bones were that thin. She hadn't been aware of it. Of how much was she not aware?
"Ms. McAlester." The Detective spoke. His very words were weighted down with expectations. Misprint looked up again, but concentrated on his shoulder, his uniform rumpled and shabby. "Everyone thought you were dead."
The tone was surprisingly gentle. Misprint glanced at his face, and felt the enquiring look in his eyes press her back into her chair. She felt her stomach twist slightly, and thought of her friends back in their dorms. They would all be sleeping now, perhaps their pillows would be wet with tears, perhaps not. Perhaps they knew she was back. Perhaps not.
"Did they?" She asked. Her voice was more of a croak than his, it felt as though she had never used it before. He nodded, breathing through his nose. The smell of the cigarette was unfurling across the table, and it made a fluttery sort of panic twist her stomach harder.
"But here you are." He continued, leaning back in his chair. "After three months. We've been searching for you, you know." His voice got heavier. "Combing the whole city. Not a trace."
Misprint said nothing, staring harshly at the fake grain on the table. She didn't know what it was he wanted to get out of her, didn't know which secrets she was supposed to guard any more. Secrets had spilled from her lips for three months, she wasn't even certain she still had the ability to lie. Detective Locklair watched her for a moment more, then placed his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the cement floor.
"I can see you're upset." He said gently, pushing his cigarette between his lips so it bobbed when he spoke. "I'll be honest with you. We've talked with your friend Alyson…"
"Alyson?" Misprint's head jerked up, her eyes glimmering slightly. "Sh…Is she here?"
Locklair raised his eyebrows.
"Whether she's here or not isn't pertinent to this interrogation." Misprint felt her breath roughly push up from her lungs. She had thought of her friends constantly, but the idea of being near to one another made excitement and a deep longing course through her veins.
"Can I talk to her?" She asked, picking at the loose skin on her fingers. "I haven't…Please?"
"Unfortunately not." Locklair said, his lips quirking in a shadow of a smirk. "As I was going to say…we were talking to Alyson, and there seem to be a lot of weak excuses…holes in her story…do you understand?"
Misprint's eyes narrowed.
"I…"
"We just want to know if you can fill in some of these holes for us." His tone became jovial again. "Then we can write up a report, submit it, and send the both of you back home." He smiled. "Easy."
Misprint dropped her gaze to her fingers again. His voice echoed in her head. Holes in her story…she didn't completely trust him. But what could they possibly do? She was back. Things were fine. She glanced down at her scarred arms, and winced. Relatively fine.
"I think the biggest question, Ms. McAlester, is where you were." The detective leaned on the table, eyes tight on her own. "I don't think you realize how panicked your friends were, how panicked the school was, when you were found missing. For three months, no less."
Misprint remained silent, staring at her hands, thoughts whirling in her sore, aching mind. She could feel the expectancy stifling her, as though she was drowning in it.
"I ran away." She said finally, quietly, as though ashamed. There was a snort of impatience from the Detective, which was quickly turned into a polite cough.
"Don't think we haven't thought of that, Ms. McAlester." He said in a gentle tone of voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck tighten. "If you ran away, why didn't you pack a change of clothing? Maybe grab some spare cash?"
"I…"
"I understand you had many good friends at the school. We can find no reason for you leaving them."
"I didn't…"
"There was blood all over your pillow, Ms. McAlester." The words stopped Misprint, froze up her excuses on her tongue. She didn't dare look up at the detective, she didn't want him to see the utter fear and guilt in her eyes. She should have realized that worming out of her disappearance wouldn't be that easy. There was a slight pause, and then the scraping of a chair as the detective sat down again.
"If you want to tell the truth, Ms. McAlester," He said casually, as though addressing a stranger. "And reveal to us why you really were gone, I can choose to forget that you lied to the New York Police Department."
Misprint sighed and clenched her hands tightly together, feeling her stomach churn. There was something much larger than just a complete report riding on this. She could tell by his intensity. What exactly happened while she was away? And why was Shade at the police department at this time of the night? She looked up, finally, and wasn't surprised to see him looking right back at her.
"Why is Sha…why is Alyson here?" She asked tightly. The Detective let his face lapse into a tight smile.
"You can call her Shade if you like, Ms. McAlester," He told her. "We know about your little nicknames, and if it makes you feel more comfortable…"
"Why is she here, then?" Misprint persisted.
"There's obvious evidence of foul play concerning your disappearance." The Detective said quickly. "We had to make certain that everyone involved with you was put through a thorough investigation."
He gave her an appraising look, before closing his eyes and taking a drag of his cigarette. Misprint felt as though she was balancing on some kind of tightrope in the dark, blindly stepping ahead of her, praying that she wouldn't fall, praying that the wire wouldn't snap. Did Detective Locklair mean that Shade was a suspect? Was that the reason for the questions, the intensity, the atmosphere? She nodded slowly, and returned her eyes to her hands. She was certain that whatever she said would get back to Shade. They weren't just going to fill in holes in her story, they were going to question her, to see if her story matched up. Misprint's mind whirled through different excuses, trying to find some reason for her absence that Shade wouldn't have to guess to seem innocent.
"I'd like you to answer the question, Ms. McAlester." The detective pressed. Misprint blinked very hard, and tried to think, but the soft rasp of her interrogator and the sick smell of the cigarette were making her mind foggy and clouded. "Ms. McAlester? Where were you? Who took you there?"
Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. Misprint took a deep breath, still staring at her hands, and numbly ran the story over in her mind. Then, with a small prayer, she raised her eyes to the detective's and took a breath.
Specs was woken up by the telephone ringing loudly by his ear. In a moment, he was sitting up, the sheets falling to his lap, glasses shoved hastily onto his nose, and the receiver pressed tight against his ear.
"Hello?" He asked, his voice clogged by sleep, as his eyes focused blearily on the alarm clock. 2:45 am shone blood red at him, as he took a few deep breaths to try and clear out his lungs and relax his shoulders. Every muscle under his skin was tensed as the memory of the previous evening flew back at him, the echoes of all curses tossed back and forth in Jack's dorm.
"Specs. Ministry," The fuzzy voice on the other line said brusquely. Specs was instantly awake, his eyes blinking rapidly under his glasses.
"I hear you," he prompted.
"We just received news from the New York Police Department," The voice read out, as though it was rehearsed. "Alyson Mayer is being called in for re-examination. They found Faith McAlester."
Specs felt his jaw drop, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to cease turning in his shock. It took him a few moments to speak, and before he did, he had to clear his throat and try to resettle his thoughts.
"That's impossible," He told them. "Our witch did a search. She found fire source in a dead body."
"Then your witch was hoodwinked," The official replied impassively. "Faith McAlester was found near the hospital, where she was recognized and sent to police headquarters immediately. They're in the process of questioning her as we speak."
Specs pressed his glasses harder into his face, and swung his legs down onto the floor, already scanning the dorm room for his jeans and tee-shirt, wondering where he had tossed them last night.
"Where was she?" He asked, trying to stifle his voice. There was no point in arousing the suspicion of neighboring dorm rooms, although he had a feeling they might have been woken up by the phone call anyways. "Who had her?"
"That information is still being withheld, but if our sources are correct, she should be back at St. Mary's by morning, provided her wounds are healed. Get her to tell you the full story. If there's any sort of connection to Spot, we want to know about it."
"Wounds?" Specs questioned, pulling his jeans up over the boxers he wore to bed, and zipping them shut. "She was hurt?" "From what we could see, bruises on her face and arms, scars branching from the corners of her eyes, and across her lips and fingers. Some minor burns, and a patch of missing hair near her right ear. Black eyes, long scar on her chin and a slightly swollen lip."
"Shit," Specs murmured under his breath, as he stuffed one arm into the t-shirt. "The scars are done up in a particular pattern," The official told him. "A sketch has been sent to your email account, see if you can hook up the design with any vampire gangs or cults. No other distinguishing marks could be picked out at this time."
"Alright," Specs confirmed, as he stretched on hand towards his computer and just managed to brush the start up button with his fingertips. He then moved back towards the phone, head reeling with questions that he knew he wouldn't get a chance to ask. Questions he knew he'd have to figure out for himself.
"Thanks," he added.
"We'll contact you before she arrives," the official promised. Then, with a fuzzy click, the line went dead.
"What was Faith McAlester's relationship with Stephen Carter?" The cop asked. Shade was sitting across the table from two cops, once more. They had introduced themselves as Detective Morley and Officer Bassi in businesslike tones, before taking their seats, Morley pulling out a withered notebook that was falling apart at the edges. Shade caught a glance of a broad, slanted scribble scrawled over a few battered pages, before Morley turned the book towards his chest and focused his dark eyes on hers. She didn't like looking into his eyes. Whenever she did, it felt like she was falling through deep wells, wells that were sucking her downwards to some sort of hellish basement that there was no escape from. She settled for focusing them on Officer Bassi's hands, long fingers and strong looking nails edged with black. Shade's emotions were doing a strange sort of tightrope walk between bubbling over with ecstasy and being lost in despair. Her fingers and lips were tingling, and her stomach was clenching inside of her as her mind went on fantasies without her.
Fantasies of appearing back at the school with Misprint, of greeting their friends and hugging Racetrack and Mush and Blink, of having Gemini and Mondie laugh and wrap their arms around them, of falling into Jack's arms against his warm, warm chest and letting him take her away from the last 24 hours that seemed as though they had come straight out of a horror movie. At the same time, her shoulders were tense and her face was pale and agitated. What if Detective Locklair found some other suspicious reason for keeping her? What if their stories didn't match? What had happened to Misprint?
"How are you feeling?" Detective Morley had asked her when they first sat down. Shade didn't know how to answer. She just couldn't believe that Misprint was alive. And couldn't think of any way to get out of this relatively unscathed. The only way to possibly come out was to leave as many options open as possible. She tried to remember everything she had said in previous interviews, but the nervous joy at seeing her best friend alive was slowing her mind down and distracting her. She finally raised her eyes to Morley's, but only to risk a quick glance.
"She kept telling me that they were best friends," She replied. Deciding to go for broke, she didn't stop. "Well…there were rumors, of course. Everyone thought that they were dating. But she always told me they were best friends, and I guess I believed her."
"You guess?" Morley raised an eyebrow. Shade shrugged.
"Mis…Faith was fairly…prudent. Is fairly prudent." She felt a grin tugging at her lips at the pure joy that seemed to course through her veins that came with the right to say is. "She doesn't like guys too much, she told me once that she didn't want to be tied down. But she was okay friends with them. I don't think there was any kinda…relationship…"
"If there was, would she tell you about it?" the Detective pressed. Shade tried to conceal her uncertainty, tried to imagine what Misprint could have concocted. It could be anything. Deciding not to burn any bridges, she shrugged again.
"I don't know."
"So there may have been a relationship between them that you didn't know of?" Shade realized what they were pushing for.
"She was over in his room a lot," She said. "Usually…well, she'd sneak out at night. Maybe."
The cops exchanged glances, and Morley jotted something down in the notebook. Shade smiled, unable to contain her happiness, unable to stop the nervous twitching to her fingers. Morley nodded, and raised those frightening eyes to hers once more. Shade tried her best to hold his stare, before she had to drop her own gaze to the table.
"How well did you know Stephen Carter?" He asked. Shade reacted immediately.
"Not very well," She insisted, shrugging to try and seem as nonchalant as possible. "I mean…he passed away…December? He was only here for two or three months."
"And you didn't speak with him much?" Morley asked. "Even though your roommate was over at his dorm as often as once every other night?"
Shade shrugged once more.
"He was Faith's friend. I spoke to him once or twice…said hi and all…he just bonded better with her."
Morley leaned over the table, his gaze more intense. Shade felt a light film of sweat form on her palms, and pressed them against the thighs of her pajamas.
"You weren't familiar with any of Stephen's acquaintances besides Faith?" He asked, his voice sounding slightly heavier. "Did you ever see any of his friends from out of school drop by? Did you know any of them?"
Startled by the cop's intensity, Shade bristled slightly under his stare.
"No," She said, sounding rather surprised. "Most of the kids at St. Mary's have friends at the school, but not outside of it."
Morley stared at her, almost as though unsatisfied with her answer. Shade furrowed her brows, trying to figure out what they were pushing at. Whatever they wanted, she would gladly give it to them. All she wanted was to leave, to go back to her dorm room. Or to spin the year back to where it was…when they didn't know anything about slayers or elementals or witches or vampires. Anything about Spot.
"In past interviews," Morley continued, leaning backwards on his chair with his shoulders still tight. "You've been unable to supply us with information about what happens during the evenings and nights in your dorm room. You admitted to sneaking out to visit friends once or twice. Are these out of school friends?"
"No," Shade said quickly. "In school friends."
"Name them." The command sounded so incredibly harsh, Shade found herself stumbling to get the names out.
"Amanda Kirkendell…Jennifer Abbots…um, Anthony Higgins…sometimes Michael Meyers or Sean Krauske…"
"Check those names," Morley said shortly. Shade paused, confused, before realizing that he was talking to Bassi, who pulled out another notebook and flipped to a certain page. His eyes scanned some kind of list, and then he nodded once, sliding the notebook shut.
"Those were a few of the kids that did initial interviews," He told Morley quietly, who had not yet taken his gaze off Shade. "McAlester mentioned some of them too. As far as we can tell, they have no connection to Carter except through her."
Shade's brows furrowed even tighter. This connection to Stephen. It was getting unnerving. She wished that she could have had some way of communicating with Misprint just to get the basic idea of what the story was going to be. This technique of hanging by your fingers wasn't exactly the most comforting thing in the world. Morley was flipping through a few pages in his own notebook, giving Shade time to lean back in her seat and brace herself for the next round of questioning. Morley sighed and folded the notebook shut, tucking it back into the breast pocket of his uniform. For some reason, Shade found herself stiffening in her seat as Morley scraped his chair back and stood.
"Faith has revealed to us that Stephen was part of a gang," he began. Shade nearly choked, but managed to quell her surprise down to a slight raising of the eyebrows and the smallest of double takes.
"He'd tell me about the shit they got up to," Misprint said bitterly, staring down at her fingers as Detective Locklair scribbled down a few notes in a thick, broad slanted font. "But he was scared. He hated it…I don't know how he got into it in the first place…"
"She implied that his suicide was due to the pressure he was facing within the gang," Morley continued, turning and pacing towards one of the near walls. Shade kept her body rigid, following his figure with her eyes, waiting for her turn to speak and rehearsing her lines in her head.
"They knew he was scared and they knew he might tell the police on 'um," Misprint said, raising her eyebrows. "They knew a lotta shit about him…I guess the big thing was that they knew about me…"
"And after he was gone, she theorized that the gang had pinned her down as it's next victim. She had a lot of information on them that could easily be held over their heads, and that was the last thing they needed." Morley turned and gave her an accusatory look, one that made Shade want to curl up in her seat and disappear. She glanced at Bassi, to see if he was looking at her, and his cold gray gaze didn't seem to help make matters any better.
"Why didn't you tell the police?" Detective Locklair pushed, leaning forwards, making Misprint tremble in her seat. "Why didn't you alert one of the authorities around your school when Stephen killed himself? Why was it that you withheld that information?"
The terror in Misprint's eyes was quite genuine. The forceful way Locklair was pushing himself forwards made her skin tingle.
"I was scared!" She claimed, voice cracking slightly. "I didn't know if they…I was afraid that if I said anything they were gonna…I thought…I don't know what I thought!"
"And it seems as though that's what happened," Morley continued coldly. "The one face that Faith caught a glance of before she was knocked out was the face that Stephen had described to her many times, distinguishable by the long scar down his forehead and cheek."
Morley's head swiveled around to catch Shade's reaction to this information. When her face remained as blank and impassive as ever, a slight sneer twisted his mouth.
"Does that mark sound familiar to you at all?"
"Stephen had told me about how they kill people," Misprint was saying, her voice low and shaking with fear. "They rip up their throats. I was scared. I didn't want them to find out that I had said anything and come after me…"
"No," Shade insisted, glancing from Morley to Bassi, back to Morley. Her mind was reeling with confusion. What sort of thing were they trying to convict her of? Every word she said only seemed to be damning her. Morley's sneer became more pronounced as he paced back to the table.
"Where were you when Faith was assaulted and kidnapped?" He asked evenly. Shade felt her blood run cold. This was bad. It was specific. She couldn't specify a certain friend, because if they were interviewed later on, they wouldn't be able to answer correctly. And Misprint's answers were still unknown to her. She took a deep breath.
"I was out," she said, trying to make her voice sound as natural as possible. "Just…just walking."
"Shade was out," Misprint told Detective Locklair, her eyes downcast. "I don't know where she was. Visiting…walking…she might have gone to a club."
"Convenient," Morley raised his eyebrows. "You just happened to be out the night your roommate was attacked."
Shade furrowed her brows, feeling her throat constrict tightly, making it hard for her to breathe.
"What do you mean?" She asked, hearing her voice rise. "Don't you think I feel bad enough already? If I was there, she wouldn't have gone! None of this would have happened!"
"I was half asleep. I heard people come in, but I thought it was a dream," Misprint admitted, scratching absentmindedly at a red spot on her arm. "But…I realized something was wrong. That…maybe I wasn't dreaming. So I rolled over and saw a group of guys in my room…all guys, as far as I could see," her voice caught raggedly, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "One of them…he had a scar down the side of his face. Long and jagged. I…I could never forget that. Stephen told me about him. I knew it was his gang."
Shade's mind was racing. Morley and Bassi turned and shared a glance, and almost as quickly, the perception shot through her, the blazing realization at what it was they were trying to get at.
"You think I'm part of Stephen's gang?" She managed, her voice high and squeaky. "Is that what you think?"
"I didn't have time to scream," Misprint said. "I was so tired…I wasn't thinking right. The guy with the scar crawled on top of me and pressed a hand down on my throat…I couldn't breathe…couldn't speak…couldn't yell…"
"Why is it that you snuck out every night or every other night and never left a specific location?" Morley questioned, rounding on Shade, striding up to the table. "Why is it that you were not in your dorm at three in the morning that night? Why is it that you threw a party on the day of Stephen's funeral?"
"I can't remember much," Misprint admitted, her lip curling upwards slightly. "He whispered something to me…something about being…" A blush rose to her cheeks, and she lifted her chin defiantly. "Stephen's whore…he didn't know anything about…Stephen and I never…"
"What did he do then?" Locklair pressed, eyes never leaving Misprint's face.
"I didn't do it!" Shade yelled back, pushing her chair backwards. "Misprint and I have been friends ever since kindergarten! Ask anyone! I would never do anything to hurt her!"
"Then why was it that you packed up her things a month after her disappearance?" Morley yelled back, his voice soaring clearly over hers and sending her reeling back into her chair. "Why was it that you cleared away her things and packed them up as though she was already gone?"
Shade's mouth snapped shut, and she felt her body slump backwards into her seat, as though defeated. This was the one question that had got her in trouble in the first place. She stared up at Morley, dead silent.
"He hit me over the head with something hard…a pipe, I think." Misprint said quietly. "Something. I blacked out. And when I woke up…I was lying somewhere blindfolded."
Morley was staring down at her with something like vindictive triumph in his eyes. Shade narrowed her own, and took a breath in. There was no need to fake emotion, her voice was trembling with exhaustion and intensity.
"I couldn't bear to look at her things," She said quietly. "I've shared a dorm with her ever since junior high…everything in that room that belonged to her had personal meaning to me. Everything. The only thing I could bear to keep up was the picture of her and me and Anthony."
There was a silence in the room that was so thick, Shade almost thought that she had lost her hearing. Nothing seemed to be moving, nothing seemed to be making a sound. Morley didn't break his gaze, but his stance seemed less intimidating, less solid than it was before. Maybe it just looked that way to Shade.
"I was afraid," She said again, her voice sounding less strong than it was. "You guys kept coming in and asking questions like she was hurt…or like you wouldn't find her again. You wanted to know the stupidest things…all this talking and questions…it just got me scared."
"They fed me," Misprint confirmed, nodding, her lip curling even farther. "They fed me…but that was all they did to keep me healthy. They…" She paused, and glanced up at Locklair, a little ruefully. "You can kinda see what they did, huh?"
Morley sat back into his chair, palmed the notebook off the table, and began to write in it, the curly loops of blue ball point pen a strong contrast to the black that had been scrawled in by Locklair. Shade's heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might burst out of her rib cage any second. The tension was unbearable, there was nothing to hold onto. After a few moments, Morley ripped a page off of his notebook, handed it to Bassi, and nodded to him twice. Bassi stood up, and in a few seconds, was gone from the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
"Where's he going?" Shade asked wearily. Morley didn't look up at her, but only flipped through another page in the book and leaned back into his chair.
"Delivering a message to Detective Locklair," he replied in a surprisingly calm tone. "We're arranging a meeting."
"And when will I know the results?" Shade's voice had the hint of a sneer in it. Morley's eyes caught hers, and she felt the same peculiar sensation of falling, and prayed that it wasn't an omen.
"Whenever we're finished."
Locklair finished writing in the notebook, and then folded it shut, before clicking the lid back on the pen with precise, brusque movements.
"We're glad to have found you, Ms. McAlester," he said finally, sounding slightly congenial at least. "And I think the New York Police Department would like to offer it's gratitude concerning your help with apprehending these gang members. Rest assured that we'll do our very best to bring them to justice."
Misprint nodded, lowered her head, and solemnly blinked back imaginary tears.
Spot realized that the sun would rise in two or three hours as he crossed the lawn of St. Mary's school. He could feel his skin tense at the thought. He, unlike many of his kinds, was strong enough to withstand sunlight, but he doubted if he would survive in this condition. His body still ached with hunger, and the taste of Misprint still lingering on his lips was hard to ignore. The need to drink his share was almost impossible to disregard, but something inside of him seemed to say that this was his last peaceful moment, the last moment he'd be able to feel the emotion that humans felt naturally, the emotions that belonged in human veins. He stopped below the fire escape, knowing that he was too weak to transport. Feeling slight flickerings of panic, he jumped up and grabbed hold of the ladder, body lifting roughly off the ground, and pulled himself up onto the first platform. He didn't want to think.
Everything inside of him, for once, seemed peaceful and compliant, everything seemed to fit once more into it's own little groove. The moment of silence before the storm. Step after step he climbed, as the city ground it's way around him, the city that never slept. He thought of the lair back in Brooklyn, and how his men must be returning by this time, waiting for his arrival, settling down to rest for the day. Some of them had been with him for ages, some of them had only been around for a year or two, still struggling with their new selves and abilities. For some reason, he felt no fondness for them. It seemed as though he was in an entirely different world. He pulled himself up to the top of the fire escape, and spotted Misprint's window down the row. Moving as softly as possible, so as to not wake anyone else who might make a fuss, he edged himself along the sills and let his body collapse into it's familiar crouch outside of her own. Everything seemed so well-known, he almost expected to look inside and see her sitting cross legged on her bed, waiting for him, clad in those long sweatshirts and baggy pants to hide the scars that faded to white time after time. But there was nothing. Her bed frame was empty, and stark looking against the brick wall. His eyes pierced through the darkness of the room, and was surprised to see that Shade wasn't in her bed. He briefly found himself contemplating this, but found that reasons didn't seem to matter to him anymore.
He didn't want anything to jar this fragile peace that had come over him, albeit how briefly. With one quick, smooth motion, he pushed the windowsill up, disappeared inside, and slid it shut behind him with a dull thud. Then, just in case, he reached up and pulled the curtains shut. He didn't need dawn surprising him while he was sleeping.
Misprint's mattress was propped up against the wall, bare and lonely with no sheets or blankets. But Spot could sense her scent deep in the fabric, and it comforted him for some strange reason. He moved towards it and lifted it off the wall, staggering for a moment as he tried to regain his balance, before dragging it towards her empty bed frame and easing it onto the springs once more. The room seemed cold and empty, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the bare walls and floor, or the fact that no one was there, that there was a chilling taste of panic and fear in the stale air. Something had happened here, and it was the reason that Shade was missing, this he knew. Before he could think on this further, he had unlaced his shoes, kicked them off, and was lying on the mattress, breathing in the soft smell of blueberries and skin, his eyes flickering closed. He felt like a soldier crawling blindly through an enemy tank that he had destroyed, a man sleeping in the ruins of a house that he himself had set a torch to long ago. Everything was missing and cold and dead, all at his own hand, and yet the very fact that the structure of this old life remained seemed to be a comfort. And although Misprint herself was nowhere near, just the fact that she was alive seemed to be enough to carry him gently off to sleep. Comfort. A small voice in his head seemed to speak against his exhaustion, holding him back from drifting into dreams.
You know the reason, The voice whispered. You know the reason why her smell comforts you.
Spot's eyelids twitched slightly.
You told her outside the hospital. Spot's eyes flickered open, catching the small rays of light from underneath the door and flashing an eerie blue in the darkness. For the first time in the dorm, a feeling of cold uncertainty drifted through him, a feeling of doubtful regret teemed with defiant sureness. He sighed and shifted on the mattress, hearing the bed creak beneath him, the moments replaying in his mind with frightening accuracy.
I did tell her, he mused to himself, his eyes tracing a crack on the ceiling, running over the rough plaster work that had survived the century. He pictured these dorms heavy with families and children, pictured the people changing through the decades…the 1900s weren't that long ago. So many things had happened throughout time, his own actions, his own words…they didn't seem to matter anymore. So what if he had told her? She was going to die like everyone else. Once she was done being young and once the fire had run it's course with her, she was going to die. The feeling of peace couldn't be shaken. He closed his eyes once more and settled back into the mattress. If she was going to die, then she might as well be told. She might as well know. And in a strange way, he was glad that he had said so.
The moment had been gentle enough…why not? As he drifted slowly off to sleep, the thought suddenly came to him that this was the last of his human self. He would be Spot again once he woke and felt night's air streaming through the cracks in the windows, and tasted blood on the city.
This is gonna hurt like hell, he thought, as his body slumped into the mattress and his eyes fastened shut.
After what seemed like hours, Morley came to get her. Shade had been silent, sitting at the edge of her seat and tracing the fake grain on the table with one raggedly chewed nail, straining her ears to see if, by some freak chance, she'd be able to hear any voices from outside the interrogation room, any snippets of conversation that would give her some kind of hint as to which way the wind was blowing. Morley had left a few minutes after he had sent Bassi away. Shade had tried to catch his eyes as he left, wondering exactly what was on his mind, but he hadn't even glanced her way. He had almost seemed a bit rueful, she had thought, as the door shut behind him. Maybe he was just as nervous as she was. Whatever it was that he was thinking now, as he cocked his head towards the door and locked eyes with her, she was uncertain.
His poker face was in place, not a muscle twitched in his stern look as she stood and moved towards the hallway. She was so tired, it felt as though she hadn't slept for months, and the examination had made her feel even more exhausted, if it was possible.
"What's happening?" She asked, as Morley shut the door behind her with an imposing click. She found herself not even caring if she was going back to the cells. All that she asked was that she could see Misprint, talk to her, hug her, and then go to sleep. Wherever. She felt that she could have slept on a highway if given the chance. Morley didn't move to place a hand on her wrist or elbow as everyone else had done before the last examination.
"We've compared your two stories," he told her as they walked through the cold tiled corridors. His heels clicked loudly, hypnotically. "And have concluded that there is nothing to hold against you. You both are free to go."
Shade could have collapsed. She concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, moving her body forwards through the endless corridors as though her life depended on it. The feeling that came along with his words seem to hit her like a punch to the stomach, and she could feel the slow realization move throughout her, as though she had been injected with something that was coursing through her veins and making her head spin, making a smile come to her face. It felt as though a huge weight had suddenly been lifted from her, making her feel that if she jumped she could easily reach up and brush the fluorescent lights that shone harshly down on the both of them.
"That's it?" Shade found herself asking, a multitude of excitement bubbling up inside of her. "We can go? You guys are going to take us back?"
"There are a few witness forms that Ms. McAlester is still filling out," Morley told her, as they turned a corner and came upon a door with a dark frosted window. "And after she has filed them, you will be escorted back."
Shade held her breath as Morley reached forwards and pushed the door open. Shade's heart pounded in the root of her tongue as her eyes focused on the scene in the room. Detective Locklair was leaning up against the counter, his face seemingly relaxed, the exhausted circles under his eyes making his expression seem long and gaunt. There were a few cops sitting in chairs that lined the room, and a tired receptionist behind the counter, her smile plastered onto her face. And standing in front of the counter was Misprint. Her face, too, was one that looked worse for wear. Her brows were pulled together, and her eyes were quite red, though whether from exhaustion or from tears, Shade was unsure. Her whole body seemed wilted, curved over in a broken arch over the forms, and her pen was moving slowly, filling them out in messy handwriting that was barely legible, her fingers shaking, making the pen jerk back and forth. Reaching out from the wet corners of her eyes were light scars, twisting and turning in her skin, dark and angry, too shallow to be done up with stitches. The same scars decorated her lips and fingers. But the eyes that peered out from between the scars and tired, streaked eyelids were the same clear blue that Shade remembered. The whole world seemed to cease it's turning as Misprint's head moved up, and her eyes flicked over to the doorway, catching Shade's own in a familiar gaze that she thought she would never see again.
In a moment, the girls had flown across the room and into each others arms.
Misprint was a lot skinnier. Her shoulders were hunched, and her neck seemed to have wilted like a flower stem, making her head droop forwards and her eyes stare lifelessly down at the floor. Every movement she made seemed light and delicate, almost as though just by touching her, you could break her into a thousand pieces. But for some reason, she still felt the same in Shade's arms. It could have been a hug at the beginning of the year, after a fight, after finding out that they had passed a course they thought they were doomed to fail.
Misprint's rough intake of breath as Shade's arms wrapped round her waist was the same, Shade's chin resting on her right shoulder was the same, the way Misprint was able to reach around her neck and grab her own elbows was the same. There was a moment of dizzifying silence as the two girls embraced, and then the sound of Misprint's sharp gasp as Shade's arm pressed against a large bruise on her side, and her eyes began to water, tears trickling into the shallow crevasses of the cuts near her eyes. Shade hastily released her, stepping back, her arms jerking away from her friend.
"Sorry!" She said hastily, seeing the way Misprint's scars shone with tears. "I didn't…I'm sorry…"
"Don't be," Misprint said quickly, shaking her head, aware of how awkward this must seem to every other member in the room. "It's…just a…don't be."
The two girls stared at one another for a moment, at a loss for what to say. Shade opened her mouth and then closed it again, and Misprint's fingers hastily began twisting at one another in front of her hips. There was a brief silence, before Misprint's lips screwed up into a subtle grin, and her shoulders shook slightly with silent laughter. Shade's mouth began to twitch, and all of a sudden, the girls were hugging again, unable to quell the waves of laughter that swept the both of them. Shade was careful not to press to hard, aware of how frail her friend seemed in her arms.
"Shit, Misprint," She choked, unsure if she was laughing or crying any more. "Don't ever do that again. Ever," She took Misprint's shoulders lightly in her fingers and held her at arms length, realizing that her friend was on the verge of tears as well. "For serious. If you ever die again, I'll kill you myself, do you understand?"
"I understand," Misprint grinned, her lips trembling. Shade noted the beginnings of tears in her friends eyes, and realized that her own eyes were getting hot as well. Hastily, she released her friends shoulders and shoved her hands into her pockets.
"We're just a bunch of babies," She said happily, blinking back the tears. Misprint nodded, and glanced back at the forms. Her lips seemed to be permanently stuck in a grin.
"I'm almost done," She said breathlessly. "Just a few more…we can go back right after I finish."
Shade nodded as Misprint turned and began to scribble in the answers to the questions hastily, her pen blotting and smudging every now and then in her haste to finish. Shade realized how almost everyone's eyes were fastened on them, and felt almost embarrassed as she hunched her shoulders up and dipped her head low. But at the same time, her whole body was pulsing with this strange euphoria and sadness, as she watched her friend's pen race over the paper. She knew it was full of spelling mistakes and strangely phrased sentences, but that only seemed to make her even happier. Misprint had always been horrible at spelling.
"Here," Misprint said in an almost triumphant tone, shoving the papers towards the receptionist, leaving a long streak of ink down one side. The receptionist, her smile still in place, took them and began checking them over. Locklair looked up at Officer Bassi and nodded once.
"You two will be escorted back to the school," He said in a rehearsed, even voice. "The authorities at your school have been notified, and will let your peers know tomorrow."
The words didn't make any sense to either of the girls. Both were floating, feet barely touching the ground, as they turned and shared grins with one another. Shade couldn't help but notice how the usual flair was missing behind Misprint's eyes. The next few minutes seemed to pass in a blur. Officer Bassi had pulled out a set of keys and was walking the two girls to the door. Out into a police car parked by the curb. Was it the same police car that Shade had arrived in? She couldn't tell any more. She was so intent on making up a story, she had barely even noticed she was in a car. The skies were beginning to lighten faintly in the East, and the noise of the city was becoming louder with every step they took. Misprint looked up and breathed in the smell of the city, as though she had forgotten what it was like. Quietly, she reached over and took Shade's hand in her own. Bassi opened the door for them, and they stepped inside the police car.
Spot's eyes snapped open. Someone was coming. He could hear footsteps coming down the halls, quiet, light footsteps that had nearly left him sleeping. He couldn't have that. Agile as a cat, he slid off the mattress and shoved his boots onto his feet, fingers flying over the laces and tightening them as the footsteps drew nearer to the dorm. The scent of blueberries seemed to envelope him once again, and his mouth twisted into a leer, fangs flashing in the dim light of the room.
It seemed that Misprint was back. Every cell in him screamed to stay put, to wait until both girls were in the room. His whole body was aching, physically aching, with hunger, and the temptation to pull Misprint up against him and bury his face in her neck was almost impossible to resist. But, with a soft groan escaping his lips involuntarily, he shot towards the window and noiselessly lifted it, sliding his body out into the fading night. Misprint needed a few days to start trusting him again, to let the weight of his words sink in, to build up a love of her own. And once that happened…
A smirk lit his face as he slid the window shut again, and began to edge towards the fire escape. Women were so easy to beguile. Whisper a few romantic words by moonlight, and they were all yours. He swung himself up onto the fire escape and turned his head towards the sky. True, light was beginning to stream it's way across the horizon. But it wouldn't take long to find some weak being to drag into a back alley and feed upon. And once he did, he'd be able to bide his time in the shadows, waiting for nightfall once more.
And then, he thought with a growl, as he took off down the fire escape, he would personally stake every being in this city that had dared to spill Misprint's blood in the last few months. He would stake them dead.
Shade had thought she heard the snap of a window being shut as she unlocked the door to their room and pushed it open with hesitant fingertips. But she must have been imagining things. Misprint followed her in, almost shaking with apprehension. She could barely believe that she was back, without a care in the world. It was almost as though every problem she had ever had was solved and locked up, some place she'd never even have to look at them ever again. Her eyes darted around the room, drinking up every detail as though starved for it. The walls were bare, the floor was amazingly clean and tidy, and the only things that were left were neat and arranged on shelves and desks. Misprint's mouth fell open in a gape as Shade shut the door behind her and locked it with a firm click.
"Wow," she whispered, eyes traveling around the dorm room. "This is insane!"
"I cleaned up," Shade admitted, almost embarrassed. Misprint's eyes alighted on the boxes stacked in the corner, with her name scrawled on them in thick Sharpie letters. She winced slightly, and then moved towards them, her walk jerky and uncoordinated. Shade watched as she fell to her knees before them and pried open the first one, peering in at the evidence of her existence. She was silent for a moment, before reaching in and pulling out a solitary sock, decorated in bright rainbow colors, slightly worn at the toes.
"You really thought I was dead, didn't you?" She asked softly. Shade nodded, then realizing that Misprint couldn't see her, cleared her throat.
"Yeah," she said, slightly sheepish. "Gemini…well, she thought…"
"Gemini?" Misprint's lips curved around the word, and before she knew it, she was smiling again. "Gemini and Mondie and everyone?" Shade didn't know what to say. Misprint felt a laugh bubbling up in her throat just at the pure joy of saying her friends names again. She laid the sock back down on the pile, and then pushed herself to her feet again, swaying slightly off balance. Shade kicked off her own shoes and glanced towards her friends bed, realizing that she should start making it up again. Strangely enough, the mattress was laid out on it, with a slight dent, as though someone had been sleeping their recently. Shade moved towards it and ran her hand over the surface, but there was no warmth, no remainders of a body. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, but before she could say anything, Misprint was moving around the room again, touching everything with curious fingertips, and fighting back joyful laughter. Shade grinned, and then crouched until she could see under the bed, could see the pile of blankets that she had stripped off the bare mattress and neatly folded. It seemed like ages ago that she had cleaned up the room, and ages ago that she had folded up the sheets and piled them neatly where she would never have to see them again. Quickly, with fumbling, trembling fingers, she redid the bed as neatly as she could, grabbed a pillow from her own, and tossed it over on Misprint's.
Misprint was still darting around the room like some curious butterfly, examining every picture and poster that adorned the walls.
"So," She said, the laughter making her voice tremble erratically. "What was it like having a dorm all to yourself?"
"Freaking lonely," Shade said without even thinking, moving towards the shelves to pull out a pair of pajamas. With a slight start, she realized that she was still in her pajamas, the ones that she had been wearing all along. She had put these on…two days ago? How long had it been that she had spent at the police station? Her mind didn't seem to be working. With dim, narrowed eyes, she turned and glanced at the clock. It was five in the morning. Misprint collapsed onto her bed with a giddy smile, and was staring up at the ceiling. The same crack was there, the same rough bricks pressing up against the side of her mattress. Shade suddenly felt awkward. The sight of her friend back on her bed filled her with emotion, filled her with nostalgia and happiness. But at the same time, it filled her with this inquisitive urge, as her eyes traced the bruises in her friend's flesh. She felt the questions ready to pour from her lips, but held them back, fought them back, not wanting to see her friend's face crumple, not wanting to see the defensive barrier block out her eyes. Misprint seemed to sense the tension, and Shade could see the stringy muscles under her friends skin tighten.
"D'you wanna sleep?" Shade asked, glancing at the clock once more. "We have…two or three hours before everyone wakes up."
Misprint didn't look as happy as she had a moment before, Shade realized. The smile was slowly fading, and she was nodding slowly.
"I'm tired," she said simply. Shade nodded once more, before moving over and flicking the light off. Misprint felt her eyes burn slightly, and she shut them tight, feeling her way under the covers and then pulling them up to her chin. They draped over her body like a shroud over a corpse. She listened to the soft pads of Shade's footsteps moving back to her own bed, the creak of the springs as she crawled underneath the covers, and the easy sigh that escaped her lips as her head hit the pillow.
"I'm glad your back," her friend said. A sad smile came to Misprint's mouth.
"I'm glad too," she replied tightly. There was a small silence between the two girls, before Misprint rolled over to face the wall. Shade could feel her whole body weighted in exhaustion. The last time she had slept could hardly have been called relaxing…there were still marks on her arms from when she had clawed at her own skin in her sleep. She opened her mouth to say goodnight, but before she could even force the words out, her eyes were shut and her mind was drifting softly into sleep. For the next three hours, Shade slept peacefully while Misprint buried her face in her pillow, body rocking with jagged sobs.
The hospital was glowing harshly in the night, the light yellow and flourescent as it spilled out onto the concrete plaza. Mispirnt was staggering, barely able to support her own weight, as Spot led her towards it's doors. The very feel of her in his arms was different, her shoulder blades seemed shrunken and weak, and her whole body was shaking uncontrollably, jerking and twitching as though tortured. Spot pulled her in closer, the feeling of her warmth against his dead heart sparking some unknown feeling in his throat. It was a feeling that frightened him.
A family was gathered outside the doors, all smiling grandparents and laughing children and beaming, loving parents. Wrapped tightly in the mothers arms was a soft smelling bundle, Spot could taste the new blood on the air, and could hear the baby's shallow, sweet breathing. The mother was staring down at it with the sort of love that Spot couldn't remember any more. They glanced up as the vampire stumbled into the soft light, Misprint clasped tight to his side. The mother frowned slightly, but didn't say anything, and turned her head away. The family continued to laugh and congratulate and exclaim, slowly moving as a group towards the parking lot out back. Both Misprint and Spot watched them, eyes trained on the family. Misprint felt a slow sadness start in her stomach, trying to remember the faces of her own parents. They weren't coming as easily as they had before.
"Comon," Spot said, moving her towards the doors. Misprint shook her head.
"I don't wanna go to the hospital," she said softly, her voice echoing in her throat. "Just take me to Stephen…Stephen always takes care of me…"
"Don't do this, Misprint," Spot pleaded, turning her to face him. She looked cold, even though the night was warm. Summer was approaching fast, yet here she was, shivering uncontrollably at arms length. She was wearing a pair of pyjamas that looked as though they had come straight from a dumpster, torn and stained with something dark and sick. But Spot knew they were hers. She had been wearing them for the last three months.
"Spot?" Misprint murmured, the light coming from behind her, framing her barbed wire hair in a golden glow, turning her face into a dark silhouette.
"I think…I think I…" Spot knew what she was going to say. He glanced around wildly, body pulsing with anxiety and this strange new feeling. Then, almost harshly, he took her in his arms and pulled her towards one of the cement supports, stumbling over his own feet, nearly knocking her to her own knees. She moaned as he pulled her into the shadow that the pillar cast, and then gently pressed her up against the rubbly cement, securing her in his own arms and own shadows.
"I don't want anyone to see us," he whispered. Misprint shook her head, her eyes nearly closing, shoulders collapsing in his own hands. "Misprint, listen to me. You have to."
Misprint's eyes forced themselves open, and she raised her face to his. The hair from his head fell forwards, brushing slightly against her eyelashes. With the cement up against her back, and the feeling of his body close to hers…she was reminded forcibly of that first night at the club, when she had caught a glimpse of his eyes for the first time. Crystalline grey, blue, green…if someone had asked her what colour they were, she wouldn't have been able to answer properly. Their gazes connected, and she could feel a powerful shot of heat running through her whole burned, hollow body, leaving her breathless and weightless. The beam of light between them couldn't have been severed by the most powerful spell.
"You didn't kill him, did you?" She asked softly, her words slurred under scarred lips. Spot stared at her, his gaze drilling down into her own, and shook his head. "Stephen? You didn't kill him?"
"Faith," Spot whispered. He reached up and hesitantly touched her lips with one finger. Misrpint's eyes fluttered shut. "No," he whispered intently. "Open your eyes, Faith, look at me." Misprint's eyelids twitched, before pulling open once more. Spot leaned in close, so close his lips brushed hers and made a thrill run through her throat and fingers.
"I love you," He whispered. A shudder ran through Misprint's body, and she seemed almost weightless, before her eyes drooped shut and she collapsed into his arms.
Shout outs!
Iaintgottaname
Misprint: Yeah…we'll hurry…in a month or two…you might want to get used to the feeling of sitting on the edge of your chair, because it takes us forever to update.
Shade: No kidding, I think our record is like six months. [shrug] I blame misi and her boyfriend's penis entirely
Misprint: Hey, that's not entirely…yeahhhh…yeah it is.
OneConfusedNewsie
Misprint: Aww, we're honoured. Hey Shade! We're those crazy kids that fans read even late at night! Freakin' awesome!
Shade: Dude, we're still writing it at three in the morning. . .mostly because we're also those crack heads who change the plot FIFTY GAZILLION TIMES
Mondie
Misprint: Yeah. Damn you and your saving chapters. Whenever we need to go back and discreetly change some facts, you'll always be there to contradict us. –taps nose- Let's just keep this whole thing to ourselves, eh?
Shade: yes we could, oor she could write a risque expose on us and thoroughly trash our reputation as insane vampire newsie fans with little to no ability to keep one plot line between chapters.
Tanzanite
Misprint: Why thank you very much. We're glad you have not caught onto all the blazing plot holes yet. (How did the police manage to overlook the initials carved in Stephen's back? Why do they think he killed himself? YOU CAN'T WRITE ON YOUR BACK!!!)
Shade: she's cut off. No more iced tea for misi. Also no more Carmy sex. We'll try to keep updating at a regular interval . . . . however everyone knows we'll fail horribly.
Fiffifofum
Misprint: I can sympathize entirely with you on the computer issue. My computer, too, is lame. So lame, in fact, that it's not even in the house right now. It's out for freakin' million dollar repairs. Gah. But thanks very much for the review. 'Twas quite uplifting.
Shade: uplifting like the STD Seize The Day song. Which makes little to no sense now but it will. Oh. It. Will. We wuv that people wuv this story. We think it's scary and scarring to small children and pregnant woman.
Crabber (aka. Jules)
Misprint: Whoaaa! WHOAAAA! Breathe! Breathe! We love you guys, but not enough to make you pass out! Anyways, thanks so much for the extremely powerful review. We think you're the anti-lame. Actually, your questions strikes deep in the realm of vampire knowledge that Makes. No. Sense. Jack was able to turn vampire, because he didn't have much blood left. And therefore, by consuming Spot's blood…something happened that made him vampire-y. Yet, since Shade had plentiful blood, regardless of having a huge gash on the back of her head, when she drank Spot's blood it was more a flashback thing…like a…memory passing penis thing…penis…yeah…I'm sure Shade has some whacked out anti-logic that will explain it better.
Shade: [glares at Misprint and the lack of logic] actually [adjusts glasses] Jack is drained to the point of death which means that when Spot's blood passes into him the 'living' blood in his body doesn't have the strength to combat it. It's like a blood transfusion, when his blood was replaced so entirely it fucked up his genetic coding. Where as Shade, while injured, was still very much in control of her body so the small amount of blood she consumed did exactly jack shit. Except the memory penis thing. Also? Do not question the objectionable plot holes!
From The Closet!
Misprint: Here's a bit of trivia for you fans who think you all teh hard kore. What is…THE CLOSET?
"I don't feel like goin' to Science taday." She said, pulling her hair back into a braid as they walked through the halls. They, as always, were the last ones down.
"You wanna cut it? Go spend time in The Closet?" Misprint asked. "The Closet" was an empty, janitors closet, that still held brooms, mops, buckets, and the perpetual odour of ammonia. But it was silent, and abandoned, and the last place any two girls would want to hang out if they were cutting class. That's why it was perfect for Misprint and Shade.
Misprint: Yes, twas a brilliant little tidbit that we threw in and promptly forgot about. When the slayers found they couldn't meet in the dorm, why didn't they just go to the closet? When they needed to practice magic and slaying, why didn't they just go to the closet? When Gemini was doing her searches…why didn't they just go to the closet? Because we forgot all about it!! Yay!
Shade: however now that we've found it, we're going to sit in it to do all our shout outs, chapter writing and From The Closet bits [a big duh to the last one]. I am losing my funny so I'm handing the key board back to the Typo
Misprint: The typo. That original. –ahem- Yeah, basically we wanted to remind you guys of the closet's existance. Seeing as…it's written out in the second chapter and like…nevermentionedtillnow. Anyways. Here beginith the authors note. Shade and I have been up all night discussing different things about this story, and we'd like to think that we got it all under control. The end is invariably approaching, Misprint's back, left elbow, memory penis, things are great. I don't think we'll be hung up on any crazy plot problems until…oh, wait, I can't say…it's a surprise…
Shade: by discussing she means making up cracked out songs and waving at ourselves in the mirror until the conversation deteriorated into random sex babble. [makes noises of displeasure] my Mad Skillz of Typing have so abruptly left. You would not believe how many times I had to backspace during this portion.
Misprint: You guys should really be here. This is freakin' awesome.
Shade: I'm freakin' awesome biznitch.
Misprint: ALL YOUR FACE ARE BELONG TO US!
Shade: Formatting documents that are 18 pages long in size 9 courier new can suck my sweet and bitable ass.