CHAPTER THREE

If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first time give things the shape of my will.

Antonin Artaud- "On Suicide," no. 1, Le Disque Vert

Withdrawn was the term Connor had been using for himself. It was his way of coping with the strange and violent dream, that's what he had been telling himself. Withdrawn, so much so he hadn't even known that Yseult was missing until her friend Stacy had called the police. She had been gone two days and he was so lost in his own world he hadn't noticed. Coping went out the door when Yseult had shown up at his dorm, so sexually alluring and hungry for him that it wasn't until she was inside and he turned down his music that he noticed a lack of heartbeat.

The tussle was brief. She had been too young, hadn't had a clue what he could bring to a fight. Still, she almost had him like a fly in amber as their eyes met and he was forced to acknowledge how much she looked like his daughter. He froze for a moment, watching the fangs descending toward his neck. His thing about having his neck touched kicked in and he was in motion. There was almost a look of relief in her eyes as his stake punctured her and he felt the slickness of Jasmine's blood on his hand so strongly he looked for the smear of brains and blood.

He sat on his bed, covered in Yseult's dust and reached for the phone. He almost sobbed when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. "Mom?" Tears started rolling down his face. He managed to even out his voice so she couldn't tell he was crying. "No, I'm not doing so good. Yseult disappeared. The police are looking for her." He trailed a finger through her ashes on his bed. "Mom...maybe this semester is a bad idea. It's not too late to drop and get my money back...no, I know that it doesn't look good on my transcripts, it's just...no, Mom, don't put Dad on. I just need to tal...damn it." Connor wiped his face. "Yeah, hi, Dad...come on, don't yell. I know what it'll look like when I apply to law school. I...I need a break. Yeah, Dad I know school's supposed to be hard. That's not it...yeah I know my grades weren't great this summer...no, it's not drugs. You know I don't touch that stuff...I just feel...did Mom tell you about Yseult? I know girls aren't more important than school but my girlfriend disappeared. No, fine, I'll stick it out. Okay, talk to you later."

Connor slammed down the phone and curled up on the bed, weeping loudly. How could they so completely misunderstand him? He didn't know how long he lay there before James came in. His roommate eyed him sourly.

"What's your problem?"

"Yseult is missing. The police are looking for her," Connor said, trying not to think on how they'd never find her.

James just shrugged obviously unconcerned since it didn't involve him in any significant way. Connor rolled out of bed and fled to the bathroom. It shouldn't bother him to kill vampires. It never had before, not in his dream-past or any time on campus but he had never known them personally before outside of Angel. He barely made it to the toilet before dinner forced itself out of him. He thought he'd turn inside out from the violence of his body's rebellion.

As he went to wash his face, Connor saw his skin was ash-streaked, Yseult's remains muddied with his tears. It sent him back into a stall, dry heaving. After washing up, he walked, dead inside, to his room and stripped the bed. He just kicked the dusty bedding into a corner, remade the bed and collapsed. James didn't even look up from his movie. Connor saw he had a message on the machine.

Connor, it's me. Your friend, Yseult, called me. She was really concerned about you. Call me...please.

He stared at the phone. It was Saturday. Didn't Yseult say Angel would be here for the weekend? No, he wouldn't call him and beg for help, even though he knew Angel would try to give it where the Reillys were more concerned with his future than his present. The phone rang. He almost didn't answer it. It was probably just Angel saying he was on his way. For a change, he picked it up.

"Yeah?" he said without enthusiasm. He sat up. "Oh, hi, Rose," he said to his 'sister.' "Sorry if I freaked out Mom and Dad...no, I don't feel so good. I'm just so tired, Rose. I want a break and they just think I'm slacking. It's not that. I feel like I'm going to pieces...no, it's not drugs. Why does everyone keep asking me that? I don't do drugs. I just need to get away from here...what? You have to go already but..." Connor felt the tears coming again. "Mom and Dad don't want you calling me? Why? It's not drugs. God, so I got straight B's in the summer, that doesn't mean drugs. Maybe I'm just not as smart as they think I should be. Maybe I just need a break. No one should go to school every day of the year...I'm not yelling at you, Rose...okay, fine. I'll talk to you later...please, call me tomorrow...no? Okay, no, go out with your friends. Bye, Sis."

Connor let the phone drop. His parents thought he was messing with drugs. They didn't want his little sister to get caught up in it. He couldn't even make them see it wasn't that. He didn't need rehab. He really did need a therapist but there was no one prepared to hear his life. It was easier to think drugs than it was to realize he needed to be loved and reassured. Angel had been the same way. It was easier to rewrite him and hand him to strangers than it was to rewrite him and keep him and do the hard work it meant to be family.

Still, Angel was the only family he had. Connor made the call and no one answered. Of course not. There never was anyone to hear his pain. Every time he reached out, there was never anyone there for him. Love didn't want anything to do with him and that terrible dream that was his past showed him that all too clearly. Holtz, Angel, Cordelia, Jasmine, none of them could love him the way he needed to be loved. Their love was conditional and he never fulfilled the conditions.

"Time to rest," he whispered.

Connor was barely aware he had picked up the knife he had purchased for his nightly outings. It was slender and sharp, perfect for slicing flesh, quick and clean. It was more for demons than vampires since it wasn't a good beheading tool. James barely noticed him and his weapon as he left. His feet carried him outside and across the quad. Connor found himself staring up at the mosaic on the Memorial Church. It was an impressive thing, running up both sides of the front facade to the peek, Jesus and the disciples or some such. Connor went inside, not sure if the door had been locked or not. He'd feel bad if he had broken the lock in his haste.

He wandered around. The stained glass looked black at night and only a few flickering offering candles lit up the stonework and gold leaf decorations. He was Catholic. Lies! If nothing else, Holtz had preached God to him. Connor tried to find God in these walls with all their inscriptions. "Why did you let something like me be born?" he muttered. "I am an affront, a bastard thing that no one wants." He cast his gaze heaven-wards. "Do you want me, God? Is there a place for me anywhere but in hell? Maybe I should have stayed in Quor-Toth. I knew my place. I was content. I made sense." Connor looked at his feet. "I don't make sense here." He put a hand over his face, biting back a sob. He stopped in front a wall and read the inscription, his inhumanely sharp eyes picking out the details in the dim light. Remedies in sickness, Love in trouble, Comfort in weakness, Renewed hope in disappointment, Tears in sorrow, Smiles to follow tears. He traced the words with a finger. "I've never found love, God. There is no comfort in being this weak." He swallowed hard. "Would I smile in heaven?"

He refrained from punching the wall and destroying the historic building. Heaven? No, creatures like him had no rights to heaven. He'd be lucky to find oblivion. Connor went outside to sit under a tree, gazing up at the church and the faint stars above it. He called Angel's cell phone again but there was no answer. His father probably couldn't figure out how to turn it on as per usual. Connor called the Reillys and they told him it was too late in the day to talk. They'd call him tomorrow. He didn't even get the chance to tell them how much he hurt. He dialed Angel's new home. Maybe his father hadn't left for Palo Alto. Connor got the answering machine. He hung up.

He turned his eyes skywards, wishing he could see the stars more clearly. The stars weren't as pretty here as they were in Quor-Toth. Maybe they would have been had he ever left the confines of the big cities of L.A.. Still, they would have to do. He could watch them for as long as it took. Connor took out the knife and didn't even hesitate. There was no need to waver or to test himself. He knew how it would feel to be cut. He wasn't afraid of dying tonight any more than he had been when he waited for Angel to slit open his throat. He welcomed death as much now as he did then.

There was burning pain as his flesh parted. The salty, coppery smell of his blood filled his nostrils. It spurted warmly from the wound. He put the handle in his mouth and drew his other wrist swiftly across the sharp blade. Spitting the knife aside, Connor looked at his bleeding wrists. He didn't have much time now. With numb, weak fingers, he hit redial and got the answering machine again.

"Hi, Dad. I know this isn't the call you wanted to get. I'm just so tired, Dad. I know you understand that. I don't work. I never will. Just calling to say..." Connor stumbled, trying to find the right words. To hell with the tears running down his face, filling his voice with agony. Angel would understand his weakness, but what else would tell his father exactly what he meant. Then he remembered what his father liked. "We'll go no more a'roving, Dad. I think you know what I mean. Bye now, Dad. It's all right. I know you love me."

Connor lay back on the grass, watching the stars getting further away as he grew sleepier and colder. Maybe he'd get to dance among them when it was all over.