Chapter Four
Eight Months Later
John stopped on the stairs leading away from the hospital. It was a beautiful day, and one he wanted to saviour. The crutches at his sides were temporarily forgotten as he felt the sun on his skin for the first time in far too long. The long months of rehab had been hard, and boring and frustrating, but it was all worth it for this single moment when he felt free again. A slow step took him to the edge of the stairs and he paused there again, this time surveying the city.
The sun hung low and blood red in the sky, half hidden in smoke. Buildings leaned against each other like drunken men, their windows like dead eyes, pressing down on him accusingly. The street was littered with debris. He saw what looked like a child's doll laying in the middle of the road. He prayed that it's owner had not gone to hell. A scrap of newspaper blew past in a gust of wind, bringing with it grit that stung his face. The area was deserted, and the street was strangely quiet.
Things had gotten much worse. He'd seen blood, human blood, running in the gutters like a river from some macabre version of hell. The image was burned into his mind like a brand. It stood for all the things that were wrong in the city. It reminded him of all the things he was going to put right. There was no way he would let anymore blood be spilled in his city. He'd risked too much to save it before. He'd lost friends to prevent this very thing happening. Carefully, he made his way down the steps to where Angela was waiting in the car. She'd wanted to help him, but he'd insisted that it was something he wanted to do on his own.
He had reached the bottom of the steps safely when he felt a strange sensation pass over him. He looked up, searching. Dozens of eyes looked back at him. The half-breeds were waiting in the shadows and the derelict buildings around the hospital. As one, they all began chanting his name, the pitch rising and falling like waves in the sea. In the sky, the clouds shifted, obscuring the sun and sending the street into shade. A quick glance showed him hundreds of glowing red eyes watching him. His hand went to his jacket pocket, and he fingered the medallions there, reassuring himself with the familiar feel of them.
It was creepy, even he had to admit that. He wanted to use his new mobility to run to the car and not stop driving until they hit Canada. He knew to run would be to admit his fears to the ones that were causing them. He forced himself to stand where he was, forced himself not to look at Angela's horrified face. He waited just long enough, and then slowly strolled to the car, the crutches as much of a hindrance as they were a help. He opened the car door and paused the as if taking in the scenery. The relentless chanting didn't stop. He could feel the force of the hundreds of voices in his chest, like one can feel vibrations as a lorry drives past.
He slid into the car, wincing a little as his overworked muscles protested. As he slammed the door, a pair of half-breeds ran into the street, towards the car. Angela started the engine, her foot ready on the gas pedal. He held out a hand to stop her driving, watching in horrified fascination as the clouds moved away from the sun and the half-breeds began to burn. The others backed away, slinking deeper into the shadows like whipped dogs. The two half-breeds in the street tried to get to the safety of the shadows, but couldn't make it. Within minutes, they had gone, reduced to ashes on the wind.
"They're changing." He said, voice a low hum, "The demon in them is taking over." A huge part of him was horrified by the very idea. It was abhorrent to him. More importantly, it shouldn't be able to happen. The human portion of the half-breeds was what made them what they were. It also prevented them from becoming full demons. He explained his thoughts to Angela, finishing with, "This shouldn't be happening."
"Oh you noticed?" She asked, sarcasm shoving fear out of the way for a few seconds at least. He glanced at her, taking in the drawn look on her face. For the first time since they'd met, she looked fragile. It worried him, seeing her like that. There had always been a core of inner steel to her. It looked badly worn now. He reached out and touched her arm. She was freezing, but her skin was clammy.
"You're freezing." He said, concerned. The car heating was already on full, so he turned the blower up, bringing more warm air into the car. "Pull over." He ordered, already taking off his overcoat to dress her in. She stopped that car at the side of the road, casting a wary glance into the rear-view mirror before she stepped out. She left the engine running, and her door open. He got the idea that nothing would stop her from making a quick getaway. He leaned out of the car and handed her the coat. She slipped in on, pushing the too long sleeves up. Without thinking, she stuck her hands into the pockets. Her fingers brushed against a cool metal object, which she assumed to be his medallions, but they were in the other pocket. She touched it again, realizing that it was a slightly worn ring.
With another look down the street, she got back into the car, slamming the door behind her. He winced a little at the sudden loud noise. She didn't bother to put her seatbelt on before moving off. They drove in silence, both occupied by their own thoughts. It seemed like the drive to his apartment took twice as long as it ever had. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw the old building drawing closer. Stealing a glance at her, he saw that she was frowning. It worried him.
She parked the car so that it was facing away from the building, getting out with barely a look at him. He got the feeling that he'd upset her somehow, but didn't know how. She took the bag from the back seat, slamming the door and left him to find his own way into the building. He scowled at her, but followed slowly, avoiding the worst of the rubble one the pavement. The feeling of relief that washed over him when he closed the thick wooden door behind him was immeasurable. He had come home, in more ways that one.
She hadn't changed the place much, save for adding thick rugs on the floors and painting the walls. The table he'd spent so many nights drinking at still stood in the centre of the kitchen. He leaned a crutch against it as he took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. She had gone directly into the bedroom to drop of his bag, and he filled the kettle with water and set it to boil before leaving the kitchen.
"Angela?" He said, pushing the door open. She had closed it behind herself. She sat on the end of the bed, the bag discarded on the floor at her side. He couldn't see her face because she had buried it in her hands. From the way her shoulders were moving, he guessed that she was crying. He sat on the bed beside her, calling him name gently.
"Why didn't you tell me that you were married?" She asked in between sobs. She felt betrayed by him, something she hadn't expected to feel.
He didn't know what to say. A lie would only upset her further, while the truth was something he wasn't sure he could tell her. Those memories were still too raw. "How did you know?" He asked instead. She pulled her hands away from her face, digging around in the overcoat pocket until she found the ring.
"I touched it and I knew." She said simply, dropping it onto the bed between them. He picked it up, closing his fist around it. The silver warmed slowly, but it somehow still felt cold.
"They died, Angela, three days before you came." A muscle twitched in his cheek as he fought back his emotions. "It was a car accident- the road was wet and she lost control. They ended upside down in a flooded drainage ditch. The car was…" He paused and fought for control. "The car was wedged so hard into the ditch that they had to dig it free."
His chest hitched as a sob broke free, but he didn't make a sound. The loss had hit him hard and he was still grieving for the family that he'd lost. He'd hoped to distance himself from the memories by coming back to the city, but in some ways, they were even stronger. No matter where he was, the memories didn't hurt any less.
"They?" She echoed faintly.
"I had a son too. He would have been five this year." He said, knowing the words would hurt her doubly. She'd hate him for not telling her, and she'd grieve for that little boy who he'd lost.
"John…" She said, and that word was packed with everything she wanted to say. She laid a hand over his, both offering and taking support.
"I should have told you, but I was coping on my own." He said in a low voice.
The kernel of hurt still ached deep in her chest, but it was more bearable now. She looked at him, and drew him into a hug. For an instant, he'd looked so fragile that she'd been scared that he was going to shatter into a million pieces. He wasn't the man she loved any more, and yet he was. Both of them had changed and she knew that she could forgive him. He deserved to be happy. They both did. The life they led had taken everything away from them and gave nothing back.
"Did you love her?" She whispered against his chest.
"I did. I loved both of them." He said. "She gave me peace."
He paused and when he spoke again, his voice was stronger. "Did you have anyone?"
There had been a few relationships over the years. "There was never anyone special."
"I'm sorry." He said, and he really was. To go through life without love was something no-one should have to do.
"I needed you John, and you weren't there. Some nights the bed was so cold and all I wanted was someone to hold me and make me feel safe the way you do." The words didn't sound like they could have come from her. When had she grown so needy?
"I'm here now." He said.
"Will you leave?" She asked bluntly.
"I won't run away again." He promised. "Nothing on this earth could force me to leave."
She was comforted by his words. The feeling of protection that he gave her was something none of the other men could offer. He hugged her and held her close, neither of them moving even when the kettle whistled for attention.