Chapter 6: Black Dog
Percy held his breath the whole way up.
The whole time he walked up those stairs and down that hall and towards his room he held his breath. He held it tight. Not because he had too, of course he didn't, he hadn't needed to breathe in 50 years and, frankly, was shocked his body still did it instinctually.
No, he held his breath because the second he stepped into his room the biggest sigh he'd ever breathed came out of him. It started as a sigh, then it became a grumble, then it became a miserable groan.
He threw his hands up and dropped his face into them.
Why did she do all that?
Why? Why did she have to go and take their simple, miserable situation and make it all confusing and somewhat enjoyable? The cooking was fine, he'd actually enjoyed all that a lot. It made him almost feel human again, at least for a bit. Then the dancing, God, the dancing... it was like he'd been plucked out of the depressing slog his life was and been dropped in some happiness instead.
The lines from the song, the ones that really hit him, rang out in his head as he laid in bed.
"When it starts to fall apart, it really falls apart."
Oh, did it ever.
"41 if you include, the fact that we don't care."
Oh man, that one had just sent a whirlwind through his brain.
He let his hand fell to his sides as he shuffled forward and dropped onto his bed, rolling over on his back and kicking his boots up onto the bed frame. Yeah he wore his boots in bed. Who cared? He barely slept anyways.
Especially not when Zoe was in the room.
He brought his hand up next to his head, grabbed his spare pillow, and pressed it over his face, smothering the second, louder groan that came out.
Why couldn't this just be simple?
Why couldn't he just have the life that he wanted? Those dances, that dinner, the emotion he couldn't deny he felt. All of that, and then a nice little cherry on top in the form of him dying of old age at 90. Was that so much to ask for?
He pressed his hand to his chest, and still felt no heartbeat.
Guess it was...
He let his eyes close slightly as he thouggt about it. He didn't have the life he wanted. No, all he had was an uncomfortable old bed and a pair of old, spurred boots and a whole mess of problems in his head.
He sighed, letting his breath flow out of his body as he stared up at the ceiling. He hadn't noticed it before, but there were names up there. Right up in the corner of the ceiling, carved into the wood, plain as day.
Clarisse, Matt, Jake, Chris
All carved into the ceiling, all looking like they'd been there for decades, because they most likely had been.
He let his eyes graze over them some more before he noticed it, right there above his bed. Staring him right in the eyes.
Red.
It was so perfectly carved that it had to have been done by those artistic hands of hers. The way the letters flowed into each other, the way they were accented, it was like Michaelangelo had painted his ceiling and he'd just been too stupid to notice it.
Or too busy.
With Zoe.
He sat up in bed. He wasn't tired anymore, he was angry. Angry and frustrated and confused and irritated and hungry. Oh God was he ever hungry. More than anything, he was hungry.
He hadn't noticed it until now. Maybe it was just because his thoughts had plagued him so. Maybe it was because the smell of that roast had tricked whatever humanity in him into ignoring his bloodlust. Maybe he'd just been too shocked by Zoe's behaviour to care. But he was hungry. Very hungry.
Hungry enough that he could feel his fangs poke through his gums without him making them, and that was always bad.
He stood up from his bed and walked over to the ensuite, flicking on the light and taking a look in the mirror.
His eyes were glowing. Without him making them.
Oh that was worse.
He turned off the light and exited the bathroom, walking over to his closet and grabbing one of his ancient, vintage flannel shirts off a hanger. A faded red and white plaid one. He tossed it over his shoulders and grabbed his sunglasses, slapping them over his glowing eyes.
Sunglasses. In the middle of the night. He looked like a douche, but was too hungry to care, and had more important things on his mind.
He considered his options, what little he had. He could go downstairs, into the basement, and eat whoever was left down there, which honestly may as well not even be an option for him.
He could always pay a visit to the Chase Family Ranch.
That thought scared him more than anything, despite how delicious Annabeth may have looked in her bed...
No.
He could always pay a visit to a nearby hospital. He'd sneak inside, find the blood bags, slip up to the roof and drink to his hearts content. Wasn't too bad of a plan, except that halfbloods hospital was something like 50 miles away, and was barely more than a converted rancher. He'd honestly be surprised if they even had any blood there.
He sighed, realizing that he only really had one option, the one he usually went to when he was starving and couldn't find a moral or decent way to get his hands on the good stuff.
He went for his door handle, but stopped.
Zoe was out there, and they hadn't exactly left on a good note.
They didn't really ever fight, not vocally or notably at least, but whenever they did have an argument, she'd usually either get very possessive, or very angry, and when she was angry, that usually meant she'd walk in, lock the door, and whisper in his ear.
Then boom, passenger in his body.
He sighed, pulling his hand back, before he turned towards his window and walked over. He drew back the drapes, taking note of the full moon that hung in the sky. It glowed, illuminating the night in a soft silver aura. It was beautiful, it really was, but frankly Percy was too hungry to care.
He was also too hungry to check if anyone saw him jump out of the third story window and land without much more than a grunt.
He landed, and pretty immediately got down on all fours, putting his palms on the ground as he raised his nose and took a deep, intense sniff.
He was smelling for blood, and he could smell it well.
He took off running, towards the Chase ranch, before jackknifing towards the road. He probably would've take his bike, but with how hungry he was and how delirious it was making him... let's just say if he got pulled over, because he'd definitely seem drunk, he might make the cop a midnight snack.
Besides, he could run pretty fast anyway.
He took note as he ran past the ranch that Mrs O'leary was sitting by the home with her ball and had just about immediately perked up when she'd smelled him. He considered slowing down, grabbing that ball, and whipping it across the state for her again, but then remembered he was hungry.
And dogs blood wasn't the worst blood out there...
He ran a little harder as he followed his nose, down the street before he sharply turned again, taking off into the desert. He ran and ran, faster and faster as the world became a shapeless blur around him, save for directly ahead.
He ran until he both smelled and heard it: Blood, and mooing.
He crested over a small hill, keeping close to the ground as he crept up behind some desert shrubbery and slipped his sunglasses off.
It was a farm, a cattle farm, and it was perfect. He held his head up and took a deep breath as the smell of the herd entered his nostrils. It just about drive him crazy, but not crazy enough to be stupid.
He pushed the bush ever so slightly out of the way, leaning into it as he eyed up the herd. They were in a fence, a simple wooden thing that looked to be about as old as he was. There were a couple flood lights set up in the middle of their field, but in order to sleep the cows had made the group decision to pile up right against the fence.
Right near Percy. It was almost too easy.
Almost, save for the farmer he could see with a shotgun by the homestead.
The man was asleep, with that fact being so blatantly obvious it was almost comedic. He st in his rocking chair, leaning back as snores rocked through his body, his shotgun laid across his lap.
He wouldn't necessarily be a problem. Guns didn't kill Percy. They hurt, sure, but so long as the bullets weren't silver and weren't aiming for his heart they didn't kill him.
No, it was the fact that he was there at all that was the problem. He'd already gone and chewed Luke out for being a clumsy dumbass, and almost getting caught with his metaphorical dick in his hand. The last thing Percy needed was farmer John to waltz up to him, covered in blood, fangs bared, eyes glowing, sucking one of his cows dry.
He needed to be slick. Damn slick.
Just like Annabeth said he was.
He sighed, realizing that even as he was hungry to the point of being feral, he still had the blonde on his mind. He brought hands up in front of his face and cracked his knuckles, focusing himself with the sound and feeling as he crept forward.
He kept an eye on the farmer, of course, but he'd be lying if one of the old Bessies wasn't the apple of his eye at the moment.
He kept moving, his body low as his spurs softly jingled in the darkness, just loud enough that he adjusted his movements accordingly, but just quiet enough that he didn't really care.
He eventually made his way up to the fence, leaping over it without so much as a flick of his thighs.
He landed in the group of cattle, disrupting them and making them moo in fear as a few shifted out of the way, their bells ringing out into the night.
The farmer stirred, enough for Percy to hear his heart beat raise and enough for Percy to drop to the ground. The farmer stiffened in his seat, heftingnhis shotgun as he grumbled
and looked out over his herd, pointing a flashlight out over the field.
Percy kept low, pressingnhis body flat against the ground and shifting towards the cattle, hoping his midnight snacks would be nice enough to cover him before he killed one of them.
The farmer grumbled to himself, something about "Damn coyotes..." before he got up from his chair and headed inside his house, shutting the door behind him as he entered.
Percy let out a soft breath in relief. That made things so, so much easier.
He turned back to the herd and put his hands on his hips as he realized something. He didn't want to do this. It wasn't really even his self-loathing fueled aversion to killing. No, that may behave been a factor, but it wasn't the main reason.
He liked cows.
He was a farm boy, as much as he dressed up like a biker. He was a farm boy and he'd grown up with cows. Cows were nice, and cool, and polite. They never bothered him and he'd always liked them. Hell he even used to name the things, too.
He really didn't like the idea of drinking one dry, but that thought really stopped dead in its tracks when he felt his fangs poke through his gums, again, without his control, again.
He picked the oldest, closest to death-looking one and grabbed it.
He didn't like what he was going to do, and really didn't want to poor thing to suffer, so he gave it a little mercy by tightly hugging its neck, breaking it.
Blood tasted better from the living, but Percy wasn't cruel, and that sweet flavour of life was one Percy could frankly stand to never taste again.
The animal fell into his arms, dead just about instantly from Percy's act and he wasted no time driving his fangs into its throat. He drank, and drank, and drank. Not worrying about any of the other cattle that were watching, or the homestead that was very clearly in view. All he could focus on was the little "NEED BLOOD" meter in his brain that slowly went from "NEED BLOOD" to "NEED BLOOD" then, after a few more gulps, went down to "Could use some more blood."
He sucked the animal dry, and felt the meter go down to "Enough blood... for now."
He stood up, taking a shaky breath as he wiped the plasma and iron from his lips. He'd gotten pretty good at not making a mess, considering he'd had 50 years of practice, but there was still always a little spill. He wiped his mouth clean, and really couldn't help but lick the residue off his hand.
Now that he was done, and full, and satisfied, he could address certain things. Namely; that tasted like shit.
He might be done better picking a slightly younger cow, because geez, he could swear there was some dust in his mouth. He spat, clearing the residue from his jaw as he leaned his head back and took a deep breath.
What now?
The question kinda kicked his mind out of vicious predator mode and back into focused, collected, kinda depressed Percy mode.
What now? What now was flee the scene of the crime, preferably before he was caught literally red handed.
He turned away from the corpse, sprinting off towards the fence line and leaping over it the same as before. He landed on the other side and immediately took to sprinting, making his way back up the hill and over the ridge, back to the desert. He stopped when the sound of mooing was long out of his ears and he was alone with nothing but the desert surrounding him, the pale light of the moon illuminating the world.
What now?
He was still for a moment, staring up at the sky, before he sat.
He sat, and just for a moment, for a fraction of time that he knew he'd see all too much of...
There was nothing. Nothing but the breeze of the night flowing over him.
He sighed, leaning back into the desert as he stared at the moon.
What now? Maybe he'd just sit here for a while. Maybe he'd just lean back and lay in the sand, staring up at the stars as they twinkled overhead. Maybe he'd walk out into the desert, far past the town, way out into the massive, untouched land that made up his home state.
Maybe he'd disappear from this life. He'd disappear from Rachel's, and disappear from Annabeth's, and then, once a few centuries went by, he'd disappear from his own.
He'd wait a millenia, surviving off wild animals until he was satisfied. Maybe world War 3 would happen. Maybe an asteroid would hit the earth. Maybe a solar flare would obliterate the planet. Now that would be poetic, the sun finally getting its just deserts and killing his ass after years of mocking it.
Maybe he'd wait long enough until half blood was abandoned, then he'd go in and sift through all the old photo albums and look at all the lives that passed him by.
Maybe Rachel's kids would end up just as good a painter as her, and they'd end up in an art gallery like she was too shy to admit she had. Yeah, he knew her pseudonym, and yeah, he'd seen her stuff at the Chicago Art Gallery. It was nice, stung a little when he'd seen her painting Lost Potential (2001) and it was a painting of a black haired, green eyed farm boy, but still.
It was nice.
He wanted things to be nice.
Maybe that Nico boy would find a nice guy. One thay wasn't like Luke, one that would treat him right. Like he deserved. They'd settle down, maybe adopt a kid, and have a nice ranch life together. Like Brokeback Mountain, but hopefully without the tragedy.
Love was something everyone deserved, especially Nico. Kid had already gone through so much, last thing he needed was more heartbreak.
Percy rested his hands behind his head and gazed up into the stars. He looked up as they twinkled and noticed something fly past his eyes.
A shooting star.
He wanted to laugh, then cry, then rip a cactus out of the ground and throw it into orbit. Naturally, naturally he'd see one when he was like this.
He thought about it, if only for a moment, before he closed his eyes and said his wish out loud.
"I wish I could spend more time with Annabeth."
He opened his eyes and brought his hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Why did he say that?
No, he didn't need to ask that. He knew why he said it. He said it because he'd just had the first enjoyable conversation he'd had in months, and it was with her. It had lasted all, what, fifteen minutes? Yeah, fifteen minutes. An incredible, soul warming fifteen minutes that made him feel a way he hadn't felt in years.
Alive.
He wasn't thinking straight, that nasty cow blood was definitely screwing with him, but... Right now? There was nothing he wanted more than to go to her house, wake her up, bring her out to his bike, and ride off into the sunset with her. Just let the road lead them as she wrapped her arms tight across his chest.
He pressed his hand against that chest and remembered why that idea was stupid.
No heartbeat.
He sighed, sitting up as his stomach lurched slightly and he suppressed a belch. He felt shitty. Very shitty. Shitty enough that he didn't see it before he heard it.
Growling.
He turned to his left and just about snapped up to his feet, lest he weren't about to puke.
It was a wolf. A big wolf. No, big didn't do this thing justice, it was a giant wolf. It stood about a dozen feet away from him, watching him from the darkness as it let out low snarls. It was dark, very dark, with thick fur that covered its shoulders. Fur that Percy couldn't quite make out the color of, but he knew it was dark. It growled softly as it's shining white teeth glinted in the moonlight, it's eyes flickering softly as the aura reflected off it's retinas.
The wolf took a step forward, pulling it's ears back as it growled at Percy.
Percy stood up, holding his hands in front of him trying to calm the thing. Normally he didn't worry at all about wild animals. They could snarl all they wanted, but he knew they didn't stand a chance. But this thing... it's head just about sat at his armpit. It looked like someone had fed a regular wolf nothing but horsemeat and steroids it's whole life and it was just now starting to get roid rage.
He did not want to fight this thing. Partially because, as he'd already shown with Mrs O'leary, he liked dogs, and partially... well partially because he didn't know if he'd win.
The wolf took another step, snarling as Percy took a step back. He was tensed, admittedly. He had his fists clenched and his jaw tighten and thought his lips were sealed, his fangs were poking out of his gums behind them.
He was quiet, and the wolf went quiet too.
It took a step back, away from Percy, who took a step back of his own. It blinked its massive eyes, Percy blinked his.
Then it just left. It wandered off, first a trot, then a jog, until it disappeared out behind a hill in the distance.
Percy stared for a moment at the hil it had vanished behind, wondering of this was some kind of a sign or something from some deity that wanted tonsxare the shit out of him,but he couldn't think about that for long before something distracted him.
His stomach grumbling.
Lord almighty, why did he eat that cow?
He doubled over, pressing his hands to his stomach as his stomach lurched again and he realized he needed to go somewhere, somewhere safe and secure and most importantly: Dark.
He considered going back to the den, but then remembered Zoe was there. She was there, and most likely angry, and most likely her own sweet brand of vengeful, and he really didn't feel like dealing with that right now.
He turned back in the direction of town and started sprinting, his feet pounding against the sand as he bolted through the desert.
He ran, nice and quick, about as quick as his lurching stomach would allow, until a building showed up in the distance.
For fuck sakes. It was the motel.
Fuck it, he didn't have time to worry about poetic irony, nor did he have time to find a new hole to crawl into. He needed to lay down now.
He stumbled to the main office, practically falling through the door as he made his way over to the desk. No one was there, because when was anyone at their post in this bloody town?
His stomach lurched a bit at the mention of blood and he rang the bell. Repeatedly. Over and over until he heard grumbling frommthe back room and a man made his way out.
It was an old man, right around his seventies or so. He had thin gray hair, gaunt cheeks, and a pretty bad hunch that probably came from sitting at a motel desk all these years.
He wandered upnto the counter and took a look at Percy, who really wasn't a looker right now.
Percy was sweating, practically covered in it. His cheeks were sucking against his teeth and his eyelids were heavy and he was breathing through his open jaw, not really trying to hide how strained it was.
He looked like he was on something.
The man lifted an eyebrow as he eyed Percy up, "Need a room?" He asked.
Percy leaned into the counter and met the man's gaze.
"Like you wouldn't believe."
The man took a nervous step back as he grabbed at the key rack.
"Alright, well... we've only got one room left, son." The man said, handing the key to Percy. Percy reached for it, his fingers grazing the ring, before the man snapped them back.
"Do I know you?" The man asked, eyeing Percy up with narrowed pupils. Percy took a moment to look at the man's outfit, and his name tag.
Matt Sloane.
It sounded familiar, but Percy didn't have time to care.
"No." He replied, slapping cash on the counter and reaching over to snatch the key.
He wandered out of the office, checking the key as he did, and his heart dropped.
It was room number 07.
Because of course it was.
He didn't have time to have another esoteric delve into his self. No, not at all. All he had time to do was stumble up to the room, stick the key in the door, practically kick the door open, and run to the bathroom.
He got to the toilet and puked. Oh Lord, did he ever...
It wasn't like regular puking, where it was waves of the stuff. No, this was like someone hooked a fire hose up to his stomach and filled him up with red food dye.
It shot out of him like a cannon as he flushed the toilet, desperately trying to flush it faster than he could heave.
It became pretty obvious that wasn't gonna be an option, so he stumbled over to the bathtub and shot his vomit there instead. His stomach groaned, lurching as it finally got rid of all the crap he'd put into it as he mentally checked decrepit cows off his safe foods list.
It made him a little ashamed, but he'd practically painted the tub by the time he was done.
He stood up straight as he finished, taking adeep breath as he ran the shower, washing away the evidence of the horror as he collapsed. First to his knees, then to his chest, laying down on the floor with a groan.
He closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of the motel floor and how nice it felt against his skin, before his eyes opened and he noticed something.
Something glinting from under the sink.
He narrowed his eyes as he lifted his head up a bit and reached over to it. He grabbed it and immediately felt his hand burn, making him hiss and drop the thing on the floor. He stared at it as it laid on the floor, glinting slightly from the light above.
It was his crucifix. The one he'd had as a boy, the one he'd torn off 50 years ago. Somehow, someway, it was still here. He stared at the thing for a moment, watching as it laid on the floor, before he snapped to his feet.
He admittedly had trouble finding his balance, puking up several gallons of blood will do that, but found it and wandered into the motel room, sifting through the bedside table until he found what he was looking for.
A nice, long pencil.
He walked back into the bathroom and used his tool to gently pick the crucifix up off the floor, hanging it by its chain in front of his face.
It swung back and forth in front of him, gently moving as he stared at the cross of silver.
He remembered the day he'd gotten it. It was a gift, from his mother. She'd told him it was his father's, and that it was a little way for him to watch over you.
He couldn't help the tear that welled in his eye, nor could he help the urge to slip the cross into his flannels pocket. It didn't burn, which was good. It was nice that despite his nightmarish existence at least the thin pouch of cotton in his flannel could save him from being literally burned at the cross.
He sighed, tossing the pencil aside as he ran a hand over his fave and realized his stomach may have felt better, but his head still pounded. God, did it ever. His thoughts, or maybe just the cows blood, slammed back in forth in his mind, making it feel like his skull was gonna crack.
It felt like something was in there, and trying to get out.
"You're pathetic, you know that?"
Percy whirled around immediately, feeling his eyes narrow into a glare as he looked around the motel room.
He'd heard a voice. He was damn sure of it, and wasn't going to pretend otherwise. He let his eyes flick around the room as his fangs poked out through his gums. His hands clenched into fists and he waited for it to speak again.
"Over here, jackass."
It did. Right from the mirror.
Percy wilhipped his head around, letting his eyes land on his reflection. Except... it wasn't. It was him, but not him. Not the person he was, but the person he had been. The old Percy, the human Percy. The double denim sporting, short haired, tanned, glasses wearing Percy. The farm boy, who'd walked into this motel room and had his life ripped away.
It was that Percy, and he looked pissed.
Percy stared at his reflection as the reflection glared back, matching his stance as it looked him down.
"This... what is this?" Percy asked, making the reflection roll its eyes and shake its head.
"This is what happens when you do that." The reflection answered, pointing over at the bathtub, which was still stained with cows blood. Percy glanced at the tub, before his gaze shifted back over to the reflection in front of him.
"That doesn't answer my question." Percy replied, and the reflection smiled at him.
"Well I don't know, four eyes..." The reflection mused, making Percy wince, "...what do you want this to be? A Redemption? A long awaited heart to heart with yourself?"
The ghost of his past leaned into the mirror, settling his hands on the sink, "Because to me? This is a lecturing, and I'm in control."
Percy took a step back, half in confusion and half in fear at the sight in front of him. This had never happened before, and he'd had worse blood before, this-
"Stop." The reflection said, bringing his hands up to his head and rubbing his temples, "Stop thinking. It's exhausting when you think."
Percy couldn't help the snort he let out, "Well what am I supposed to do, then? What's there been these last years but thoughts?"
The reflection snapped its gaze to Percy with a sneer, "That's the problem, Percy. There's been nothing for years..." The reflection brought its hand up, pinching the bridge of its nose in frustration, "...and its only recently you've seemed content to wallow in that vacancy."
Percy let out a sneer of his own, "Then what am I supposed to do, huh? What is there to do but wallow until this planet turns to dust?"
The reflection let a malicious look skitter across its face. It growled out its next words with enough hate to make the devil blush.
"How about you kill Zoe, for starters?"
Percy let his gaze flick back up to his reflection's. His eyes widened slightly before his expression fell and he looked away.
"You know I can't do that..." He mumbled as the reflection let out another scoff.
"Can't?" It asked, pressing closer to the mirror as it did, "Or won't?"
It was Percy's turn to press up to the mirror, his expression hardened now.
"What difference does it make?" He asked, letting his anger pick up his tone a bit, "Killing her isn't an option. Never has been."
The reflection took a step back and shook it's head. "Is that because you're scared of the clan..." It let it's head cock slightly to the side, "...or because you love her?"
Percy felt his gaze snap away in an instant.
"I don't love her."
The reflection let out a dark, grumbling laugh, "No, of course you don't Percy. You don't love her at all."
It let its gaze flick up to his, it's eyes a dark shade of green, "Thats why you pound her out every chance you get, whether she makes you or not. That's why you cooked that useless dinner with her tonight..." The reflection leaned back in, gripping the sink even tighter now, "...that's why you wanted to kiss her after your little dance."
Percy looked down at the floor as his jaw tightened.
"I didn't."
The reflection laughed, harder this time.
"You think you can lie to me?" It stared into Percy's eyes, drawing him in to stare back, "You do know what I am, don't you?"
Percy shrugged, not really wanting this conversation to continue, but deep down knowing it had to. The reflection narrowed it's eyes and brought its hand up to its chest, tapping itself right over its heart.
"I'm this, Percy..." It said, leaning in again, "Your humanity, your life. I'm what you've been slowly killing all these years, slowly letting slip out of your grasp."
It leaned back over the sink, putting its hands on either side of the mirror, "I'm fading, Percy. I can feel it. Every time you feed, every time another year passes by..." It grit its teeth as anger flashed in its eyes, "Every time you screw that whore..."
Percy felt his eyes snap up, his hands snapping to the sink as he gripped the porcelain tight enough for it to crack.
"Don't call her that."
The reflection did little more than shake its head as it stepped back from the sink.
"Every time you do anything that separates your further and further from that heartbeat you miss so much..." The figure let a glare point in Percy's direction, "...it kills me, Percy."
Percy didn't know what was worse. The fact that his reflection might be right, or the fact that it took literal blood poisoning to realize it. The reflection sighed.
"You're hopeless, you know that? Especially when it comes to Zoe." It said, it's voice defeated as it stepped away from the mirror, "She ruins your life, she robs you of your mortality, she makes this existence nothing more than an endless, meaningless slog..." The figure let its glare drift back up to Percy's eyes, "...Then it takes her, what, 50 years? 50 years of worthless, empty sex, some half assed conversations, a little dance, and you fall for her."
The reflection leaned in.
"Rachel was right to say no to you."
Percy felt his teeth grit.
"Stop it."
The reflection didn't, leaning in farther.
"What's the matter, truth hurts? Here's some more for you. That blonde? What do you really think is gonna happen? You think you're gonna ride off into the sunset with her? Because you're not"
Percy's grip on the sink tightened even more.
"I said Stop."
The reflection laughed.
"Or what? You gonna ignore me some more? Hey, I'll tell you what. Why don't you go over to that ranch and give her a little bite. Then maybe after another 50 years your misery can have some company, eh?" The reflection leaned in a bit.
"Or maybe just pound her out, too. Give yourself a little reward for suffering through that whore all these years..."
Percy couldn't take it any more. His fist flew out, crashing through the wall of his bathroom and popping out the other side into the cool night air. He opened his hand, ripping his fist back through the concrete as he gripped the sink again, enough to crack it some more.
The reflection didn't falter, nor did it seem to care. It just let out a breath and took of its glasses, tossing them aside.
"You wanna know how this ends, Percy?"
Percy let his gaze fall.
"How?"
He heard a noise in the mirror and looked up.
He shouldn't have.
His reflection had turned into something else. Something grotesque, something wrong. It's face had become a nightmarish collection of features. Razor sharp teeth, receded lips, hook nose, and pointed elvish ears. It's head was completely hairless. Nothing, no eyebrows, no scalp hair, just a smooth head of pale grey skin. The clothes his reflection had worn had become tattered, as if something had attempted to rip them off. That something, Percy realized, was the reflection itself as he noticed the razor sharp claws on its fingers.
It was a monster. No, he was a monster.
The being looked at him, letting out a low growl before it spoke. It's voice was no longer his, more a collection of raspy growls that leaked from its lack of lips.
"Is this what you want, Percy?"
Percy tried to answer, he did, but he couldn't. This was the first time in a long time thay he'd been frozen in fear and the feeling was not one he could adapt to fast enough.
The monster pulled its lips back and reached forward, through the mirror, grabbing Percy's chest and pulling him up to its face as it leaned through the glass.
"Is this what you want?" The creature asked, "Because this is how it ends for you when I go away."
Percy couldn't move, or fight back, or anything. All he could do was let the beasts words sink in, until they landed right in his soul. It smiled, letting it's razor teeth glint in the bathroom light.
"Think about what I said, Percy. Before it's too late."
With that, it pulled him towards the mirror, smashing him against it and sending cracks up its length. Percy fell back to the floor, snapping back to his feet in an instant and looking at the reflection.
It was just him. Still a little pale and still a little sick, but him. He sighed, running a thumb over the broken mirror.
There's 7 years of bad luck. Not that that really mattered to him, anyway. He stopped his thoughts when he realized he was doing exactly what his reflection had told him not to.
He took a step back, looking in the cracked mirror as he stared into his eyes. He blinked, letting them flicker and glow, and kept looking at his reflection, thinking about what it had said when it had a voice to speak with.
It was right, in a lot of ways. Percy knew that. He knew that he was letting go, and had been for years. Yet, a little part of him also knew that was inevitable. He remembered something Beckendorf had said to him years ago.
Our life is a cycle, Percy. We go through the same few emotions in phases as we go. Sometimes denial, sometimes anger, sometimes bargaining, sometimes depression, sometimes acceptance.
He remembered asking where Luke was at on that cycle, and could recall a grimace on Beck's face.
Luke accepted this the second it happened, as far as I'm concerned. Only difference between us and him is he didn't go through it it naturally. He got turned, and as far as Zoe's told us, was drinking people dry the next day.
Percy had asked him if they were on the way to that too, and Beck's grimace had become a sad frown.
All there is to do in the end is accept it, Percy. You can push it aside, delay it. But we all end up like Luke eventually.
Acceptance wasn't something Percy wanted, not with this. But Beck was right. It was coming, and soon, and even if he could stave it off for a few more years, those years would be worth it.
He hoped so, at least.
He let out a sigh and walked out of the mirror, plopping down on the shitty bed for the night. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should carve his initials up in there, just like he'd seen in his room. Leave a little mark on his old Town, just so he could have some proof that he'd lived here, and that it had meant something to him when he did.
He rolled over and went to sleep when he remembered he'd probably live to see this motel torn down anyway.