Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. The canon ideas and original characters (Charles Xavier, Kurt "Nightcrawler" Wagner, Robert "Iceman" Drake, Jean Grey, Erik "Magneto" Lehnsherr, "Black" Tom Cassidy, Peter "Colossus" Rasputin, Sean "Banshee" Cassidy, Elizabeth "Betsy" Braddock, a.k.a. "Psylocke", and Mastermind) were created by Stan Lee and Marvel comics; therefore, X-Men belongs to them. Jennifer Kaneshige, David Forslund, and I co-own our original character David Forslund, but his nickname "Blacklight" belongs solely to me. I also created and own the characters Jet "Sidewinder" Black, Kristina "Phantom (X)" James, Tamiko "Sonic" Kaneshige, Caleb "Hephaestus" Tucker, Deanna "Medusa" Barnes, Matthew "Falcon" James, Tina Andrews "Gypsum" Black, Hanna "Evie" Black, Jason McCleod, Lauren "Sable" Shadoan, Dennis Owen, and any other character ultimately unrelated to the original Marvel universe. This story, "The Hunt for Black Tom", is © Kristina Jones 2003/2004, and any plagiarism or copyright thereof without the explicit consent of the author is prohibited.
X-Men: The Hunt for Black Tom
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Author's Note: I must first express my apologies for my "sermon" about make-up in the first section of this chapter. Meine Lieblingsfreundin, Natalie Russo, has expressed to me that she does not appreciate my spiel about where I stand on the issue of make-up products and their purpose. I had the choice to remove the "sermon" from this piece, but after very little debate, I have chosen to let it remain. I don't like to preach :cough: but I do like to express my opinions, either directly (make-up, cigarettes, etc) or indirectly (capital punishment, death penalty, etc). Furthermore, this chapter contains a few scenes that contrast one another in mood and tone, but I felt that I should let them stand together in the same chapter rather than breaking it all up. This story is drawing closer and closer to its end (about three more chapters).
"And so it is, just like you said it would be. Life goes easy on me most of the time. And so it is: the shorter story, no love, no glory, no hero in her sky. I can't take my eyes off of you. I can't take my eyes…. And so it is, just like you said it should be. We'll both forget the breeze most of the time. And so it is: the colder water, the blower's daughter, the pupil in denial. I can't take my eyes off of you. I can't take my eyes…Ooh, did I say that I loathe you? Did I say that I want to leave it all behind?" Damien Rice, "The Blower's Daughter"
"When you're weary, feeling small…When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them off. I'm on your side . . . When you're down and out. When you're on the street. When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you. I'll take your part. Oh, when darkness comes, and pain is all around, like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down . . . Sail on, silver girl. Sail on by! Your time has come to shine. All your dreams are on their way. See how they shine. Oh, if you need a friend I'm sailing right behind. Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind." Simon & Garfunkel, "Bridge Over Troubled Water"
Chapter VII: The Flesh of the Wound
The sky, grey with clouds that threatened snow or rain, was sunless as Kris threw clothes into her black gym bag that lay open on the bed in her room. Her short now vibrantly pink hair was pushed back behind her ears with a white headband, but she was now clothed in comfortable grey sweatpants and a pullover. She moved quickly about the room, taking up hairbrushes, socks, a toothbrush, or anything else she thought necessary. The last thing she picked up was a small black bag, and she stared at it with a loathsome scowl.
"What's wrong, Kris?" David asked from the far corner, where he sat on the floor, mournfully fingering his now blonde hair. He stared at her from under his eyebrows, smiling humorously at her disgruntled manner.
Throwing the bag on the bed beside the rest of her things, she let out, "I hate this stuff."
"What stuff?" he inquired, genuinely curious.
Pointing at the small black bag, she frowned and answered, "Make-up. That bag is full of make-up. I hate that stuff."
Letting out a humored laugh, he shook his head and asked, "Why? What's so bad about it?"
"It's make-up, David," she let out in an exasperated breath. "Since I was a teenager, I've believed in being 'me.' I hate the idea of covering up or accenting my features. What's the point in trying to impress people with falsely glamorous eyelids or cheekbones? If I'm trying to get a guy, I would rather him know the natural me before he commits to anything. Anyway, I haven't worn any make-up in months. I just don't care." There was a moment, as he smiled and nodded in understanding. "Is it a bad thing that I don't care what people think of how I look?"
"No," David answered. "It's honorable, I think. Few people share your point of view, but yours makes more sense."
"Thank you," she said with a giggle, grabbing and throwing the make-up into the gym bag. "Unfortunately, if I'm to be believed at this night club, I'm gonna have to wear make-up." Walking to the foot of the bed, she slipped on a pair of tennis shoes, then asked, "Well, are you ready to go?"
"Yeah," he replied, coming to his feet and picking up his own backpack. He was dressed in denim jeans and navy sweater, hiding his false tattoo that he openly despised. Turning to the mirror, he ran another disappointed hand through his hair and let out a sad sigh.
"Now what's wrong with you?" Kris asked kindly with a very teasing smile.
"I want my brown hair back," he pouted quietly, his soft voice sounding almost childish. "I don't like being blonde."
"Hey, at least you're not pink," Kris retorted with a laugh, touching her own hair quaintly. He did not smile or laugh, only stared sulkily at her. "Fine," she said, turning and reaching down under the bed, "wear this." With that, she tossed him a forest green sock cap, which he slowly put on. The tips of his hair still stuck out underneath, but the majority of his hair was covered by the hat. He looked over at her and she laughed. "You're hopeless," she let out, giggling.
"Let's go," he responded, pushing her out the door into the hallway. Laughing, she turned back to him and grabbed his right hand with hers. In a moment they had dissolved into an invisible world.
"Quick," she whispered, pulling him forward toward the stairwell. As they headed silently down, a voice resounded from atop the stairs.
"Hey, where are you going?" By the voice, Kris knew immediately that it was Jet who had called out.
"Scheiße!" Kris let out, moving more quickly down the stairs. But Jet was upon her, and he grabbed her invisible shoulders and pushed her firmly back against the wall.
"Kris, your invisibility doesn't work with me, remember," Jet said with an almost teasing air. Sighing, Kris stood there, her hand holding David's tightly. She knew that Jet could sense her heat with the snake-like detectors in his sinus cavities, but she had not counted on approaching him in the hallway. "Where are you going?" he asked again, his voice letting out a hiss of curiosity.
Concentrating hard, she sighed and dissolved into visibility, but David remained invisible beside her. Jet's eyes danced upon her face as he took in the color of her hair, and suddenly he burst into a fit of laughter. "What is this?" he asked through his laughter, touching strands of her hair.
"I thought of trying something new, okay!" she exclaimed in frustration. "Now, may I please go?"
"Wait a minute," Jet suddenly said, a realization shining in his violet eyes. "What are you up to?" He stared into her blue eyes, and she rolled her eyes and sighed in defeat.
Inside a hotel room outside the city, Jet leaned against the windowsill, his wavy hair unkempt about his forehead. Sighing, he turned to David, who sat on the bed, his hair pulled back into a low ponytail, fully dressed for the evening's upcoming events. "How in the world did she talk you into this?" Jet inquired, disbelieving.
Looking at his hands, ashamed, David said, "Actually, I had to talk her into letting me come along. But that was before I knew what she was going to do." There was moment as David looked at Jet, then he added, "And you seem to have no problem with coming along, and you knew what we were going to do before you committed to anything."
Chuckling, Jet shook his head and stared down at his own outfit, a set of black leather pants, silvery white collared shirt and matching black leather jacket. "I must admit that you look far more ridiculous than I do," he stated, scanning David's ensemble for the tenth time. "Honestly, you look like you belong at a skate-park, not a club."
"Tell her that!" David let out, gesturing to the wall that divided the two hotel rooms, his exasperation evident. "She seems to think that I could walk in there dressed like this."
Puzzled thought written into his furrowed brow, Jet stared at David for a long moment before he finally stated, "Maybe I can fix this." Walking to his own bag, Jet rustled through it, saying, "Unlike Kris, I was born with some sense of fashion. She, on the other hand, comes from a family of farmers where well-dressed means a pair of overalls and plaid oxfords." They laughed together, and then Jet pulled out a pair of white dress slacks. He tossed them to David, then pulled out a royal blue, silk oxford shirt. Smiling mischievously, Jet tossed it gingerly over to David who stared at it quizzically. "Trust me, David. It will look better than what you've got. Then again… Anything will look better than what you got."
Glancing at his friend warningly, David sighed and nodded. "But what about my hair?" Jet stared at it, taking in the blonde look.
"Actually, it's not that bad. It will work for tonight," Jet said decisively. "At least Kris got that part right. But those glasses won't do. No… Try these." With that, he passed him a pair of blue tinted, wire-framed glasses.
"Thanks," David said as he disappeared into the bathroom to change.
Tamiko stared out from bruised brown eyes to look loathsomely at the willowy redhead that leaned against the wall, a terrible smile upon her face. "Why the mean look, Sonic?" Deanna asked out, her voice echoing over the sterile walls. "Do you need something? Water, maybe?"
Glaring at her, Tamiko scornfully spit bloody saliva out onto the floor. With a look of utter disgust, Deanna walked slowly toward the bound prisoner and said, "You have a nasty temper."
Tamiko only grimaced, looked up at her and then muttered, "Screw you." Deanna sent her a reproachful glance, and Tamiko winced as a sharp pain stabbed at her insides. She only shook it off with a spiteful laugh and said, "It must suck, not being able to look into the eyes of your lover without hurting him."
"What of it?" Deanna nearly shouted in frustration.
"I'm just saying, if I had that problem, I would go and shoot myself," Tamiko continued in an undertone of bitter hatred. "Have you ever looked at yourself like that in the mirror?" At this question, once asked, Tamiko burst into hysterical laughter. "I can only imagine…" she muttered between snickers.
Her temper flashing in her golden eyes, Deanna opened her mouth and spit out a thin snake, only a few inches in length, but long fangs flashing. The snake aimed for Tamiko, but as it was nearing the sneering prisoner, Deanna lunged forward and snatched it out of the air. The snake writhed in her hands as she held it only inches from Tamiko's face. Tamiko only stared at it, unimpressed, uncaring.
"You know what happens if one of my snakes bites you?" Deanna seethed behind clenched teeth. "You know your friend Sidewinder?"
"What, Jet? I guess I know him. I only went to school with him for four years," Tamiko let out sarcastically with apathetic clumsiness. Deanna rolled her eyes, exasperated. The snake in her hands writhed for a few moments, silently, before falling limp and dead in her hands. Throwing it to the floor, she pursed her lips and began to speak.
"They don't live long, but when alive, they're deadly. These snakes are only just slightly less venomous than Sidewinder. Their venom is so toxic it will kill you within minutes, but the pain is so great, it feels like hours. It first affects the nervous system, then slowly starts shutting down your major organs… one… by… one. During this agonizing process, the lungs are slowly filling with fluid, until you can barely breath, then…" Deanna stopped, staring warningly into Tamiko's eyes. "Sad thing is, there is no real anti-serum for it. So, once you've been bitten, there is nothing you can do about it."
"Unless you're Jet of course, right?" Tamiko muttered in thought. "His body supplies it's own chemical that counters the effects of his own venom, and since it's so powerful, no other snake venom can hurt him." With this comment, Tamiko smiled sarcastically and said, "Doesn't that make you happy?"
"Shut the hell up!" Deanna muttered, turning away.
"Hey, you know what," Tamiko called after her in insane laughter, but Deanna kept walking. "It doesn't work on Phantom either. Her body produces its own anti-serum as well. Ha!"
Turning on her, Deanna stared hard into her and shouted, "I said shut up!" Her golden eyes burned as fiery pain seized at Tamiko's insides. The young X-Man let out a shriek of agony as Deanna continued to wreak terrible torture on her.
"Medusa!" a man shouted suddenly. The Irish accent revealed that it was Tom Cassidy, and Deanna quickly turned away. As her eyes fell out of Tamiko's gaze, the pain disappeared instantly. Black Tom stared at Tamiko from the other side of the room, where he had entered just moments before.
Tamiko only stared back, hatred deep in her eyes as she leaned forward against the bindings that held her to the chair. Her eyes were wet with hot tears and shot with blood. "Tom, you need to keep this Gorgon slut locked up. She's got a really fiery temper," she seethed. "I'd watch your back if I were you. She might turn her snake-spitting ass against you one of these days."
Tom laughed, nodding. "I'll remember that, Sonic," he muttered. Then, ushering Deanna out of the room, he exited and shut the door.
Bright lights of red, blue and green moved interchangeably in the otherwise dark club. A mingled smell of sweat and smoke hung in the haze of half-light as the throbbing of the bass beat out a rhythm that shook the smooth floor. Throngs of people wove in and out of sensual and inebriated dance.
Strutting to the bar, her arm laced in David's, Kris sneered mischievously as she scanned around for familiar faces. Leaning purposefully across the glass counter, she carelessly ordered a shot of Jack Daniel's. Grinning at David's curious expression, she downed the shot with expressive gusto.
As she continued her façade, all the while staying aware for a known face, Jet moved up beside her and leaned close into her ear, whispering, "He's here. Near the back wall on the sofa." Eyeing the far corner, Kris set inconspicuous eyes on a brilliantly red-haired man wearing a burgundy Armani suit and low ponytail. He was laughing uproariously as two gentlemen reclined with him, glasses of champagne in their hands, and paid harlots on each arm. As she watched their active conversation, the red-haired man lit a cigarette and put it to his lips. He breathed it deeply, the music pounding in their ears. He stared down a young woman who was approaching him. He dabbled in flirty conversation with her, all the while his eyes scanning her figure as she stood before him.
Falling out of David's arm, Kris looked seriously at him and said, "Here I go." Her words rose unheard, for the music drowned out her voice. With a sigh, he understood and nodded, taking a seat at the bar next to Jet, who already had a drink in his hand.
Weaving in and out among the people, Kris approached the back wall, her eyes set behind rosy sunglasses. As she drew closer, a bubbly giddiness fluttered in her stomach, and she grinned in expectation. Here I go, she thought, emerging from the throng of dancers, in clear view of the men on the sofa. Her stiletto heels leading her forward, she paused near to them and rested her eyes on the redhead, secret anxiety tightening in her knees.
After long moments, the man caught sight of her, and scanned her curiously. With a daring grin, Kris openly invited him to come to her. He remained seated, an amused and eager smile on his lips, and he motioned for her to come to him. Kris only persisted on her own extended invitation, and he finally stood and excused himself from his company. Striding smoothly to her, he drew close to her, and she leaned in to his ear and whispered, "Your music sucks." Her voice rose and fell in the singsong sound of an authentic Irish accent.
He only laughed, his grey eyes sparkling and smoothly replied, "Perhaps I can find something more to your taste."
"Perhaps," she whispered, her hands playing near his neck. In a short moment, his hands were at the waist, his touch smooth against the skin of her stomach. Goosebumps tickled her neck as he pulled her closer to him, tightly. Though her nervousness escalated, she continued her charade and reacted positively to his advances.
His grey eyes glistened as she softly drew his mouth to hers. They kissed long and lustfully, eyes clamped shut. David, watching from a distance, stirred in his seat, and Jet only looked at him, observing his friend's agitation.
Staring at Kris's eager demeanor, the redhead whispered, taken aback, "Who are you?" Avoiding an answer, Kris drew him into another kiss, at which he gasped, mystified. Staring back into her eyes, he took her hands and said, "Follow me." At this, he led her through a door, locking it behind him.
This new room was dimly lit with low lights. In the back corner there was a wide bed, and Kris glanced at it, urgent fear clamping down in her throat. As he turned back to her from locking the door, she made to speak, but he only advanced on her, caressing her lustfully. Inside of her, she felt compelled to respond likewise, but after minutes of fighting her own inner battle, she drew back and stared long into him.
He looked back at her, observing her. "I know you," he whispered. "I know that kiss." She only continued to look into him, silently behind rose-tinted sunglasses. After long minutes, he whispered, "Phantom?"
Smiling, Kris slid the sunglasses down from her face, staring out at him with blue-green eyes, and responded, "Boo."
"How long has it been, Caleb?" Kris asked from across the room as she drank down a glass of water. "Three years?"
"That's right," Caleb answered from his seat on the bed, staring over at her in disbelief. "Only, you're not really German, are you?"
Shaking her pink head, she let out, "Nope, not really. I'm an American like you."
Laughing, Caleb ran a hand through his red hair and said, "Not German. Certainly not Irish…. What a little liar you are!" He exclaimed this with a heavy laugh, standing and pacing about in surprise.
"I'm not a liar. You just assumed," she spat teasingly, her arms now crossed over her chest. "I spoke better German than you did anyway. I knew you weren't native from the start."
"The next thing you'll be telling me is that you're a telepath or something!" he exclaimed in a fit of sarcasm. She only stared at him seriously, and he shook his head in disbelief. "No way! You're a telepath, aren't you?"
"Yeah," she whispered with a grin.
He laughed in utter disbelief, turning away for a moment before finally asking, "So, why are you here? Do you want to get back together or something?"
"After that break-up! Are you kidding me?" she let out, almost as disbelieving as he did.
"As I recall, you didn't want to have anything to do with me," he responded.
Her mouth gaping open, Kris retorted, "That was only after you disappeared for a month without telling me anything about where you were going, or what you were doing. Then you came back, expecting me to be totally fine with your leave of absence, as though nothing had happened."
"What's the big deal, Phantom? I had some business to take care of in the States."
"You could have at least told me you were leaving," she answered, genuinely upset with him. She turned to the room's mini-bar and poured herself another glass of water.
Watching her silently, he finally nodded and said, "You're right. And I'm sorry." She left her back to him and drank the water, refusing to respond to him. "Anyway, why are you here, Phantom?"
She took a long time to answer him, continuing to drink and stare intently at the counter. "I need your help, Caleb. A friend of mine—Sonic—she was kidnapped and is being held by—"
"Black Tom?" Caleb interrupted, finishing her sentence. "I know. I heard about this Sonic girl from a contact of mine. He told me about this yesterday, while we were making an exchange and let it slip in side conversation. She's a friend of yours?" Kris slowly nodded. "I thought it strange that Black Tom is taking X-Men hostage. It doesn't make sense."
"It does," Kris interjected. "He some how found out that Sonic and I are best friends. He wants me, not her. But he's using her to get to me."
"What's he want with you?"
"I don't know. Maybe he thinks that I am the terrorist I'm proclaimed to be. Maybe he wants to work with me or something."
"That wouldn't make sense, Phantom," Caleb let out. "Almost every mutant knows that you're not a terrorist. Even the Brotherhood knows that you are a loner, you don't belong to any group."
"I know, but Cassidy wants me for some reason. But right now, all I care about is getting Sonic back. You've gotta help me, Caleb. Do you know where she is?"
Her desperation was evident as she paced to him, her hands folded at her chest, pleading for his help. "Yes," he whispered, taking her hands into his, nodding. "I know where she is." Tears sparkled in her eyes when he smiled and said, "And I'll get her back."
"Thank you," she let out in a whisper, a tear streaking down her cheek. Carefully, he reached up and wiped it away with long and gentle fingers.
"If you come back here tomorrow, in the morning, we'll organize this together. I'll get us some help too. Is anyone with you?" he questioned.
Nodding, she replied, "Two men. Blacklight and Sidewinder. Do you know who they are?" He stared back at her, nodding in near astonishment.
"I'm surprised you know Blacklight," he stated. "I don't know him personally, but his…reputation…proceeds him." Stepping away in thought, he shook his head and added, "Bring them with you tomorrow. We could use their help."
The corridor was dark and silent as Kris, Jet, and David made their way to their hotel rooms. "I can't wait to get this color out of my hair," Kris let out in a laugh. Jet chuckled alongside her, running a hand through his own black hair. "And I'm sure David's even more excited than I am, right?"
She looked over to him, only to find his demeanor resolute and silent. He glanced at her, his eyes cold and stern. "What's wrong, David?" Jet inquired, slipping the keycard through the lock in the door. It clicked and opened.
David only looked away and walked purposefully inside. Kris watched him, leaning against the door to her room. Looking into Jet's snake eyes, she asked in a whisper, "What's the matter with him?"
Taking Kris by the arm, Jet led her away from the door and whispered an answer, "Kris, I think he's upset by what happened tonight."
"What do you mean? We got help. Caleb's gonna help us, and we're gonna get Tamiko back." As she reasoned aloud, Jet silenced her with a hand to her lips.
"No, Kris. I think he's upset because you and Caleb, well you know, basically made-out right in front of us. Did you even know what you were doing?"
Searching for words, her eyes roving, she replied, "But it wasn't real. I was acting. He knows that."
"And it doesn't help that you told us on the subway that you and Caleb have a history together," Jet let out in exasperation. "Whether or not you want to realize it, David has feelings for you, and no doubt, you have some for him. Though, it's hard to tell, considering you never think before you open that bloody trap of yours."
"That has nothing to do with anything, Jet. I was acting. And, it's not like David and I are dating or together or anything, all right!"
"The way you've been acting with him lately, you might as well be!" Jet seethed, his defense of his friend and scolding of another flustering Kris. "He would do anything for you, Kris! And you don't seem to notice that. He sat down and watched you throw yourself all over some stranger. Think about how angry that would make anyone. He sat there and did nothing while you paraded around in your little costume. He didn't have to be there, but he still went with you. Remember that, Kris! He'll do anything for you!"
"I don't have time to listen to this," she let out in bordering anger. "I need to get to sleep." She went to her door and unlocked it. Opening it, she stopped halfway inside her room and said, "Tell David that it was an act, okay. I didn't mean any of it. Tell him that. He'll listen to you."
Later, as she crawled into bed, her hair wet and blonde again, she could hear muffled conversation on the other side of the wall. Pausing, she listened, and stretched out her mind.
"David, are you angry with Kris?"
"No, Jet. No. I'm just tired, all right."
"Then what's wrong, mate?"
"Don't worry about me, Jet. I'm fine. It has nothing to do with Kris, okay."
Backing away from their conversation, Kris nodded her head and pulled the covers over her. "See, I knew it was nothing," she muttered aloud to herself. But as she turned out the light and closed her eyes, she wondered, and a pang of guilt stabbed in her stomach.
"The game is over Tom," Sean Cassidy shouted out loudly to his hated cousin as he stepped out from the group, his brown leather jacket rustling in the wind. His wispy blonde hair blew about his face, his voice hoarse as he tried to raise it above the sirens as the police cars and the fire brigade drew closer.
Pouting out his lip childishly, Tom mumbled, "Oh, has poor little Sean lost his ickle wittle voice?" Grimacing, Sean took a step forward in a typical challenge, but Kris touched his shoulder, keeping him back. Laughing, Tom shouted, "You should have never wasted your time saving your precious little X-Men. Look where it has gotten you! You don't even have the ability to use your powers."
A roar of anger rose among the X-Men standing behind them, and in a sudden burst of emotion and fury, the battle started. Sean made a wild run at Tom, his voice screeching louder than anything they could imagine. Clutching at her hair, Kris's face contorted in agony just as the brawl began. Deanna leapt out from Tom's group and became Medusa, her golden eyes burning in wild fury. Peter, his tanned body now coated in a silver armor, became Colossus, David was throwing bursts of light, and Betsy, her long violet hair flowing in the currents of air, became Psylocke, instigating her powers in several psy-thrusts and knives.
A world of fire and ice enveloped Kris inside and outside as she stared out across the frozen highway, the cloudy sky reflecting dully in her blue eyes. His coarse demeanor stared back into her, and she shivered. She knew what she had to do.
Striding forward amid the mayhem of her fellow X-Men fighting around her, Kris concentrated hard on the burning wind that flowed from Black Tom as he watched her, taunting, from a short distance. She could hear him laughing, and the screams of battle about her deadened.
The world spun rapidly around her. Fiery pain stabbed in her temples, and she fell to her knees, seething in anguish. The hot pain resounded in her mind, and she put her forehead to the pavement. The world echoed hollowly around her, but all she could feel was the pain, that deep, stabbing, burning fire inside her head. She fought to move, but she could not; the pain held her to the ground. She opened her mouth to yell, but no sound came out. All she knew was pain.
The sky went spinning sideways as someone stumbled roughly into her. Rolling, she landed upon her back, her blood shot eyes searching the grey dome of sky. It took her long minutes to finally realize that the pain in her head had lessened, and that someone lay facedown on the road beside her, struggling in agony. Fighting the pain that burnt in her eyes, she rolled over, slowly, and looked at his tousled brown hair. He writhed in pain, his limbs growing weaker and weaker, groaning terribly inside his throat. Moments passed before Kris realized who it was lying beside her. It took even longer to notice the blood pouring from a wound on his back.
"David!" she rasped in sudden realization. The pain increased, but she ignored it as she pulled herself to him. Tearing at his clothes, she exposed the wound in his back. Clearing away the crimson blood with shaking fingers, she saw the two parallel bite marks. "Oh God!" she cried out, tears burning her eyes. Looking to the sky, she sought consolation, but nothing came. Grabbing his shoulders, she turned him over and pulled him into her own trembling arms. He was convulsing in agonizing torture, his face pale white, bloodless.
He stared up into her eyes, his own dull and heavy. "K-Kris?" he whispered, struggling in her arms, his breath appearing in a weak cloud of white between them.
"It's okay, David," she whispered, tears spilling down her face. "I'm here," she consoled him with a hand through his hair. His purpling lips moved to speak, but his jaw only shook in trembling, pained silence. His chest heaved for air, but his lungs, fluid filled, would not cooperate. "Shh…" she comforted him softly, leaning close to him. "I'm gonna make you better, okay…" His eyes began to roll back, but she shook him and said, "Stay with me, David. Look at me. Keep your eyes on me, okay." He focused on her a moment as she searched for something to say, to do.
His body was limp in her hold, every ounce of energy dissipated into nothing. But he stared into her, his eyes unseeing. "Keep breathing," she instructed in a whisper. "You aren't leaving me."
"It hurts…" he gasped in a nearly inaudible breath. The muscles in his face tensed in agony, and he shut his eyes, tears running down his own pale cheeks.
Pulling him close to her, she whispered, "It's okay. The pain will pass." She rocked him a moment, her head against his, eyes shut, his blood on her hands and clothes. Her salty tears mixed with his hair as she held him tight. "The pain will pass…" she whispered again, tasting her tears as they rolled over her lips.
Rocking him there, silence reigned. After long, mournful moments, David's voice whispered quiet words into her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine. When his words passed through her, she held him tighter, her weeping intensified. He rested his head onto her shoulder, and slowly, softly his breathing ceased.
Silence…
Then, Kris opened her tear-filled eyes and looked down into his peaceful face. She brushed his hair back from his cheeks with bloodied fingers and suddenly burst into a wailing sob. "No!" she cried, looking to the clouded sky. And frantically, she turned him in her arms and dug her fingertips into the snakebite in his back, tearing the flesh of the wound. Putting her mouth to it, she desperately fought to withdraw the poison, but his blood no longer circulated through the wound. "No," she wept, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her head against his limp body, rocking him as she sat there on the pavement. "God…" she whispered. "I'm sorry, David. I'm sorry!" She screamed in bitter agony.
A cold wind enveloped her and stung at her cheeks, freezing the salty tears on her eyelashes.
Gentle hands shook her weeping form awake. She lay facedown, crying bitter tears into her pillow as her hands clenched the sheets about her. "Wake up, Kris," a distant voice echoed from the blackness above. She struggled in the blankets before she pulled herself back into her hotel room. There, she froze and quickly turned, staring around. Her eyes came to rest on a familiar face above her, illuminated in the pale moonlight.
"David!" she cried, jolting up and wrapping her arms around him. He sat down with her and put his arms around her waist, soothing her with strong hands. She buried her head in his shoulder, exclaiming, "Thank you, God, thank you, God…"
"What is it?" he whispered softly.
She took in the scent of his clothes as she paused in thought, calming her tears. After a long moment and a deep breath, she fell out of his embrace and said, "Nothing, nothing… I'm all right. I just had a bad dream, that's all." Fiddling with the blankets, she watched her fingers as he observed her, concerned. She let out a disregarding laugh and shrugged, adding, "It's hard to believe that I'm twenty-five years old and still afraid of the dark."
"Kris, it feels a bit more serious than that," David let out quietly, his voice solemn, his eyes fixed on her. She glanced up at him, but quickly looked away. Running a hand through her hair, she nervously laughed and shook her head. "The way you screamed…" he whispered, looking down at his hands, "the moment I heard you crying, I thought—I thought that something terrible had happened to you." His hand found hers, and he squeezed it gently, earnestly. Looking into her eyes, he whispered, "I've never been that frightened. The thought of something happening to you, I… I couldn't bear to imagine…" He trailed off with a shake of his head. "Even when I was in that execution chamber, I wasn't as afraid as just then," he added softly, looking away out the window by the bedside.
Something in her stomach tightened, and she gripped his hand tightly. She tried to speak, but words failed her. He looked back into her eyes and saw tears forming there. Concerned, he asked, "What is it?"
Slowly shaking her head, Kris muttered, "You can't go with me, David. I won't let you." A tear escaped her eyes, and he gently brushed it away, his brow knitted in confusion. "You have to go back to the mansion…"
"No," he said decisively, shaking his head. "No, I'm staying here. I'm going to help you."
"No you're not!" she nearly shouted in such honest urgency that he froze and stared into her, his blue eyes searching her gaze. Long minutes passed in silence as he read her eyes. Sighing, he nodded his head, his hair falling into his eyes. He seemed to understand something inside of her gaze, and Kris felt that he knew what she had seen. "I won't let you get hurt, David…" she whispered in tears. "I won't…" Shivering, she whispered, "I can't lose you."
"Shh…" he comforted her, pulling her into his arms. She leaned into his shoulder, her eyes closed. "Listen to me," he stated quietly, but firmly. Face to face now, his hands in her hair, he looked her directly in the eyes, and said, "You aren't going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand?" She nodded, and he stated, "I'm always going to be here." His voice was so sure and firm, and as he fell silent, she felt a warm solace that she had not known for weeks.
"So… you're not angry with me?" she whispered hesitantly, staring earnestly into his eyes, reflecting a sea of emotion and tears.
Leaning close to her, he let out a soft laugh and shook his head, saying, "No… I'm not angry with you." He smiled warmly, and she let out a relieved giggle. They stared into each other, face to face, for passing minutes of silence. His breath was warm on her cheeks, but she felt her hands trembling as they lay folded in her lap. He leant his forehead against hers, resting there, eyes closed. Reaching up, she brushed the tips of his hair with her fingers, eyes shut, waiting.
With sure hands, he pulled her closer to him, his mouth barely touching her cheek as he whispered, "I'm not leaving…" Then, slowly but surely, he guided her down to her pillows and pulled the covers over her. She softly touched his fingertips as he looked down at her gently, his eyes sparkling. "Sleep now…" he whispered delicately.
She looked at him. He was staring out the window at the moon, then he looked down to her wide, tired eyes and smiled. Running a hand through her hair, he bid her goodnight and silently left the room.
