Breathing By Rote, Chapter 4.

Warnings: cursing.

00000

1989.

It was an unbearably hot summer and after their morning chores the Finn children were free to play so long as they stayed out of the grown-ups' hair, which this year included Moira since she'd graduated high school and was too busy planning for her first semester at Iowa State. At ten Riley was deemed old enough to coral his younger brother and sister, and so long as he had their inhalers they were free to play. He'd decided they'd go to the watering hole but on the way they'd found a large ant mound.

/What do you think is going to happen/ An amused voice asked in his head and he shrugged as he accepted the old leaking wooden bucket of water from Connor. Gonna find out, he silently answered. That he was answering a voice in his head didn't really bother the boy. The voice had always been there and sounded like the friend he often played with in his dreams. Sometimes he wished Liam was real, but then he'd have to share him. /I don't like sharing./

Try having six brother and sisters, Riley shot back as he carefully poured the water into the ant hill. All I do is share.

/Except me. You don't share me./ Liam sounded pleased and Riley could almost feel invisible arms hug him.

Nope. You're all I have that's just mine. The ants came bubbling out and Riley laughed over Brigit's shrieks and Connor's demanding a go.

oOo

Though the fall semester was months away Moira Finn could not begin packing early enough. For the last eleven years of her life she'd had to share her room with her younger sister Elaine, even sleeping in the same bed. She knew there was no way she was going to get a dorm room to herself, but she couldn't help her excitement. Soon she was going to have her own bed, her own desk, her own space, which meant she needed to extract her belongings from amongst her younger sister's. They had never really declared areas of the small bedroom off limits to each other though they had fought for space since Elaine was old enough to assert an opinion. It was hard knowing her new room was going to most likely be just as small and that whatever she left behind was going to be claimed by the baby brat when she took her place. Which was why she was sorting her life now.

With an old Cosmo spread over her lap Elaine watched from her perch on their bed, sharp eyes noting everything that went into the 'keep' pile. It wasn't like the sisters owned a lot of sissy junk like other girls did, but that made them all the more possessive of what they did have, right down to the last barrette.

"Are you really taking that?" Elaine asked of the Caboodle Moira was holding.

"Yes. You have one, remember? I'll need something to keep my stuff in."

"It's pretty little girl, don't you think, for college?"

The older blond critically gave the bright purple and pink organizer a once over. "You're not getting it, Elaine, so shut it."

"As if I would want it," her younger sister huffed, pointedly looking back down at her magazine. Moira tossed the organizer into the 'keep' pile and went back to rooting through their closet, impatiently shoving the smaller girl's clothes out of her way. There was a belt she wanted somewhere in here and she was going to find it if it took her all summer. After a few minutes Elaine focused back on the only thing she could now see of her sister, her bright white capris clad butt. "So do you think Mom is going to give you the talk or is Dad?"

"What talk? The 'don't be mean to your stupid siblings talk'?"

"No, moron, the, you know, The Talk," Elaine stressed the last two words, blushing.

Moira's head popped back out to stare at her twelve year old sister. "What do you know about The Talk, pipsqueak?"

Elaine's blush deepened but she soldiered on, her chin lifting. "We have television, you know. I know all about The Talk. Either Mom or Dad have to give it and you better hope it's not Dad."

Dad would probably give The Talk in full dress uniform and show pictures of what would happen to the guy who touched his little girl. He'd also try to convince her body parts would fall off. Mom would make her go talk to Father McLarin and Moira gave serious thought to which scenario would be worse.

She shook her head. "Stop being so dramatic, Lanie. The Talk only works if you haven't had sex, otherwise it's just an hour of parents trying to parent. Don't make such a big deal out it. Yeesh."

"Moira," Elaine yelped, "you've had sex?"

Moira's eyes darted to their closed door. "For crying out loud, keep your voice down, stupid! Do you want to see me grounded till I'm, like, thirty?"

"But Moira," her sister whispered, eyes huge, "you can't have done IT. You, you're like seventeen."

"Almost eighteen, and yeah, I did. Don't make such a big deal out it, brat." Moira proudly played it cool, but inside she was going all warm and fuzzy in remembrance.

Elaine frowned. "Does this guy go to Ballard? Are you like going steady or something? Why haven't I met him? Is he ugly or what?"

Her older sister rolled her eyes, patting at her blond bob. "Stop being so nosy," she snapped, then sighed when she saw her sister's mutinous expression, the one that promised eminent tattle-telling if she didn't spill. "Fine, I'll dish, but you better keep your mouth shut, hear me?"

"Sure," Elaine readily agreed. "So, do I know him? Did you guys kiss?"

"No, you don't know him. I met him on our senior field trip. His name is Jackson and he's already in college. We hung out for a couple nights at the end of his spring break. And yes, we kissed. A lot."

"And you had sex, with a perfect stranger."

"Jackson wasn't a stranger, we became friends."

"You had sex," Elaine stubbornly repeated.

"Yes, Lanie," Moira snapped, "we had sex. Lots and lots of sex. Are you happy now?"

"You, Moira Finn, are a ho," her little sister declared, smirking at her slack jawed reaction.

She quickly recovered, though, and snatched up the first thing that came to hand to throw at the laughing brat. "You little shit! I am not!"

Elaine nimbly dodged, scrambling off the bed and running for the door. "You throw another shoe at me and I'm telling Mom you're a slut!"

"You do," Moira screamed after her as she fled, "and I'm telling her what you called me!" She slammed the door and wished for a lock to keep the horrible brat out for good, but their parents had always adamantly refused locks on any of the bedrooms or the one bathroom, no matter how many times the twins had humiliated her with their shit. Oh, she couldn't wait for college! No more brats, no more having to baby-sit said brats, no more being embarrassed by them at school, no more having to share her stuff with her younger sisters, no more immature teasing about her breasts by her brothers, no more any of it. They'd be lucky if she came home for winter break.

Walking over to the vanity dresser she tugged on her capris, pulling them down enough to expose her hips. She hadn't told Elaine everything she had done on her senior trip and had actually been going through great lengths to keep this detail a secret from her nosy siblings and strict parents. Smiling dreamily she traced a finger over the swirls of the stylized 'A' adorning her hip. She'd been pretty drunk when Jackson had talked her into getting it, drunk and sated from hours of his extraordinary prowess between the sheets, but she didn't regret it at all. From their first night when Jackson took her virginity to their last when she agreed to the tat Jackson had been considerate, respectful and adamantly clear of how far his interests went. Friendship with benefits.

The tattoo matched Jackson's, though done on a smaller scale. The skin beneath was dark, like a shallow bruise. Considering they'd both been drunk at the time, they figured the artist must have messed up. She even had two bumpy needle scars to back up the theory, but the 'A' was clear to see, the ink shiny against her satiny skin. Moira still didn't know why she'd picked Jackson's tattoo to copy, but she liked it. She knew too many girls who'd given it up for boyfriends promising love who were just horny and were gone the next week. Jackson had told her she was special, had made her feel special, but hadn't promised anything beyond a mutual good time. Wearing his tattoo, it was like she still had a part of him, had that pleasure forever etched into her flesh. She wasn't ashamed or embarrassed to talk about Jackson. For the first time in her life, like a promise of what was to come, she'd been treated and had acted like a woman. She felt like she could take on the world and whenever that feeling faded all she had to do was touch Jackson's tattoo. Such warmth and satiation, it was so tempting to just lie on the bed and rub the erogenous patch, touch herself until remembered heat and pleasure came back to her.

Very tempting, but she'd be nuts to try for any privacy in this house. Knowing her luck, the twins would get pictures and plaster them all over the school. Or Mom would have chosen today to invite Father McLarin for dinner. Laughing softly at that image, she tugged her pants back into place. Maybe she'd get a roommate who'd live in the library.

oOo

In retrospect, curled around his twin in this dark place, Patrick had known better. By the pain radiating up from his sore ass, he had known better, but since practically the day they'd come squalling into the world he could never deny his brother anything. Anything at all.

The plan was brilliant, but if they were going to get that much skunk piss to spray that asshole Reed Hillerman's house in, they'd need money they didn't have. Just a couple hundred dollars and then Ian remembered Allison Sween saying her dad always kept some cash at his hardware store, in his office at the back of the building, to pay the boys who brought in fresh bait every week. Patrick had opened his mouth, but didn't say anything, knowing Ian would rather break Mr. Sween's office window and steal the money rather than dig in riverbank muck for hours. Hell, they could have gotten any of the brats to do it; Riley and Connor were always in the mud, but that wasn't the point. Ian wanted the excitement, the thrill of pushing things farther than they'd ever taken them. So Patrick got down on his knees behind Sween Hardware and boosted his brother up to the small window.

"A little higher, Pat," Ian prodded, straining to reach the window's sill. Beneath him Patrick grunted, wobbled, and found the muscle to lift his twin a little higher. Had Ian always been this heavy? Maybe they should have gotten one of the squeaks, but that had been another of his suggestions Ian had shot down, counting each one off on his fingers. Elaine would have ratted on them in a heartbeat just because, Riley was so goody-two shoes it was amazing they were actually related, Connor would have blackmailed them for the next decade and Bridge? The baby brat would have got them caught for sure with her diarrhea mouth. Moira never even came up, both boys knowing their older sister would have smacked them till their ears rang for even thinking that someone as perfect as her would be caught dead hanging around a hardware store, at any time of day. Five siblings and not a one of them was of any use in having a good time.

"Got it!" His brother quietly crowed and Patrick huffed a sigh that exploded out of him as he was abruptly grabbed and thrown to the ground. "Wha!" Ian cried, suddenly finding himself dangling by his fingertips.

Patrick landed face first on the filthy pavement, but quickly scrambled up, thinking it was the cops or maybe some older kids. He didn't stay on his feet long. Something big rushed at him, slamming him into the side of the building. Stars exploded in his head and he slumped to the ground, sinking slowly into painless black.

"NO! Get the fuck away from him!" Ian took the risk, dropping to the ground over ten feet below to rush to the brother's side. A flare of pain went up from his right ankle but he ignored it, charging the guy leaning over his twin. At the last minute the man turned, his large hand catching Ian about the throat and lifting him into the air. The teenager gave an inarticulate cry and flailed at the arm holding him, but the fucker didn't even flinch. In the darkness of the alley Ian couldn't see the guy's face but he was fucking huge and when he tilted his head to meet the boy's scared glare his eyes were glowing yellow.

Ian gasped and struggled all the harder, feet uselessly kicking. Guy was a fucking monster, some scary ass shithead who was going to eat them and Ian hollered for help, for the damn cops, for anybody in the rolled up town. All his efforts got was a hard shake and his throat squeezed so hard his voice choked off into a pathetic gurgle.

"Quit your bleating, brat, or do you want me to kill you first?" The fucker growled.

"No, please don't, it was just a joke!" Ian begged. "Patrick didn't want to, it was just for fun!"

"Fun?" The guy barked. "You are riding my last bloody nerve! You think it's fun to risk putting your pretty ass and your brother's in a jail cell? I should drain you now and rid myself of your nuisance! You want to have some fun?" He roared, his voice deeper and scarier than their dad's had ever been. It hit Ian like a physical blow and if he'd been able he'd have dropped to his knees. As it was he didn't even notice the warmth spreading in his crotch, convinced he was about to die.

"Please," the teenager gasped, unable to articulate anything else.

"You need to learn to beg your master properly," the monster growled, "and you will. Since everything is about having fun with you, we're going to play a game. A treasure hunt." A white square of paper appeared in his other hand, lifted into Ian's eyesight before it was crammed down the front of his jeans. "On your own, with no help from anyone, you will come to this address. You have three days. You cannot talk to anyone, write messages, nothing. If you do, the game is forfeit, and I will know if you try. If in the three days, you make it to the address, then the treasure will be yours after you properly beg for it."

Abruptly released Ian fell on his ass hard. Blind instinct made him scramble backwards, away from the fucker towering over him and inadvertently into a small patch of moonlight that had made it's way into the alley. "Treasure hunt?" he dumbly repeated, confused. Why the hell was he going to do anything this monster told him to do?

"Time to find out who you value more, little boy." Ian screamed as the fucker revealed himself, leaning down to hiss right into his face, monstrous visage and huge ass fangs cast in sharp relief. Vampire! His mind screamed but nothing came out of his frozen vocal chords as a large clawed hand tapped him on the forehead. "Three days."

And like that, he was gone. The alley behind Sween Hardware was completely silent but for his rapid panting. They'd been jumped by a vampire, like right out of Lost Boys, a real live fucking vampire, with the fangs, yellow eyes, scrunched up forehead, the works. He could have sucked them dry and it scared the sixteen year old to a depth he'd never before felt to realize just how close they had come to dying.

"Oh God, oh God, that was close, too fucking close," he breathed. Time to get the hell out of here, before Mr. Fangy changed his mind and came back. "Patrick, let's get the fuck out of here."

No answer and halfway to his knees, Ian froze. It was really quiet in the alley. "Patrick?" It's dead quiet, he thought, but then mentally slapped himself. Not dead, can't be dead. "Patrick, you better fucking answer me right fucking now!"

No, no, this wasn't happening, but as Ian staggered to his feet and searched the alley where he'd last seen his twin it started to sink in. Patrick would have never left him to face that guy alone. Never. Breath hitching as it started to all make horrible sense Ian shoved his hand down the front of his jeans, madly searching for that piece of paper the vampire had held.

Des Moines. Treasure hunt. No cops, no telling Mom, no help from anyone, and he had three days. Three days to travel over thirty miles and find the treasure. To find Patrick.

TBC.