It was late.
The bottle was almost empty, his fingers fiddled with his lighter. There was a lit cigarette inside the tray, the trailing snake of smoke lingering, tempting him for another drag. He had not moved from his seat for hours, and he was considering going downstairs to drown his thoughts away in familiar flesh and alcohol. He had purchased a third room, and she had said nothing to him when he finally calmed down enough to leave. Whether or not she kept her threat serious at this point he didn't really care. She was cracking him open and sucking at all there was inside; a damn raven bewitching him with those knowing eyes.
Terrifying.
He was in the hole, and the shovel was tossed alongside with him. Evelyn was peering down over the edge, taking handfuls of dirt and sprinkling them over his face. All of that trouble, and he still didn't have a single thing on her; she just took the sledgehammer and decided to bust out his knees. Never in his life for two hundred years had someone cornered him so acutely, and so fast. All of the past women he had been with usually cut their questions short; they were like him, and they understood what they had lost, all those years ago.
She reminded him in those moments with her heightened intuition of another woman whose skull he carried around; his fingers encircled inside the hollow of her eye sockets. There was no familiarity physically between them besides the blue eyes; they were both beautiful women, but in their own rights.
Evelyn was the ocean. Capable of creating maelstroms while providing warm waters to submerge yourself into.
Darcy was the night sky. She was seemingly endless and captivatingly lovely, while being so far away you could not touch her. She was a star; distant.
He had not even attempted in reaching for those stars; he felt the chill she created, and it left him seeking sanctuary in something warm. It was in the multitude of other women that kept him thawed out every night when he was around her.
Evelyn in her own right could be reserved, but Darcy simply lacked empathy.
The glass clinked against his front tooth as he guzzled the rest of the scotch down. So many fucking women that plagued his life, and yet he could not help but draw back to them. He stumbled into the hallway, scratching at his jaw, and he made a decision. When he knocked on her door she answered, and she held no anger or elation at his return.
"Can I come in?"
She said nothing, taking his hand in between her own and leading him to the bathroom. They stood beneath the spray of the warm water, the rivulets forming rivers down their spines, and she kissed him gently all over his ruined body, his sins awash with the stroke of her lips.
You do not love him.
I do! You cannot tell me what I do or do not feel! You have no right!
… then you are lost, my Evelyn.
Her head was nuzzled against his chest; his arms tightly embraced her. She wiggled slightly and sat upright, attempting to not wake him from his slumber, but she felt his fingers squeeze around her wrist. An eye cracked open at her, and he slowly closed it and sighed noisily through his nostrils. Evelyn's hair was a wild cascade around her face, and the morning sunlight washed it in a heavenly glow. A bony index fingertip traced around an areola, and he then brought it down and cupped his palm behind his head.
Evelyn blinked into the sunlight. "Darcy was my mother."
Mother…?
Her voice was indifferent. "I have no feeling of attachment to her anymore; she made sure of that herself."
The merc squinted an eye at her. Yeah, I could see that.
She offered him nothing more and his hold around her wrist never loosened.
"So, your mother, huh?" he finally said wearily. "Don't see much of a resemblance." He was biding his time, beating around the bush.
"She told me to come find you."
Now both eyes were staring at her. "How?"
"In a-uhm, she wrote to me…I…I think she knew she was going to die…she mentioned you, and that's when I came to find you." She was unblinking and passive. "I only found her journal, about a year ago…"
The ghoul remained silent, and he closed his eyes. The inner turmoil that flooded through him was a tsunami, ravaging through his memories and past emotions. He secretly wanted to connect the dots…he could not understand why Darcy would mention him- after everything he-
"Did you kill her?" she asked him.
Silence, and then, "…no."
"How…did she die?"
That strong hand pulled her down onto himself, and she laid the side of her head against his chest, his rhythmic breathing soothing her thoughts. "She killed herself."
He waited for her reaction, but she simply laid there against him, quiet and unseeing. There were no tears or cries of anguish; he almost thought she didn't hear him, until she rolled away and he let her go. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him, and his fingertips stroked down her spine.
"Do you think you will ever love someone as much as you did with Amelia?"
Cross retracted his hand back to his side, and she took that for his answer. When she went to rise, his voice graveled out. "I don't think I can take that kind of pain again."
"If I died in Braxton, would you simply pretend I didn't exist?" She half-turned to him, her hair a velvet curtain across her shoulders.
Now he growled low in his throat. "Are you askin' me to love you?"
"Do you not?"
He barked out a laugh, shaking his head and rolling away from her. She found no offense in his response; those eyes were just watching.
"Did Amelia look like me?" she asked.
"No."
She almost seemed visibly relieved at that, before her face eroded away into indifference. "You came back to me, twice."
He said nothing.
"Why tell someone you need them in your life if you do not love them?" Her eyes were burning a hole into the back of his head. "Are you only with me because I'm the only woman with skin that'll sleep with you? Do I remind you of her just in that way?"
He was furious again at her persistent, stupid questions. He angrily thrust the bedding away as he sat upright. "I take it back. You are fuckin' just like Darcy."
Evelyn hastily turned from him like she had been slapped. She visibly shook and went about getting dressed. Neither spoke another word to the other as they changed into their clothes.
Evelyn was no longer the calm pacific seas. She had crystallized into snow; a frozen lake, and he was trapped underneath the ice, left to freeze.
He led them on and neither exchanged so much as a glance to the other. The day passed with minor altercations as he kept their journey to the interstate; the distance between themselves and the city of ghouls narrowing further and further with each and every step.
When night had fallen, she left him alone by the fire and sat beneath the stars; the constellations she traced mumbled off her lips. He sat close to the flames, but he did not feel its warmth. Eventually, he grew weary of their detachment; he had attempted to reconcile with her, but she merely stared at him with wordless thoughts beyond her years and looked back to the encapsulating galaxy.
Darcy's ghost had taken her form. He took to drinking again.
Their match had been relit and snuffed out so many times, he did not know whether they would just burn at the ends together.
Morning came, and went. Evening came, and went.
She hadn't spoken a single word to him since that morning in the hotel, and it was beginning to eat away at him. The raven was picking its teeth with his bones, and he feared he would be reduced to nothing by the time she was done with him.
They made it to the next town. She rented a room and locked the door behind her. He went to the bar and toyed with the idea of revisiting a woman that lived just a few miles on the outskirts. By the time he was so drunk he couldn't even remember her name, he ended up stumbling to Evelyn's door, his fist pounding against the frame. Wordlessly, she let him in, and he fell asleep against her warm body as soon as his head was laid down.
Morning came, and went. Evening came, and Evelyn got shot.
They were making their way through a hollowed city, a couple of scavengers camping out in the ruins took aim and struck her in her right shoulder. Another shot rang out, nailing her in the inner thigh.
Cross took careful aim and returned the favor. Evelyn was already on her knees, trying to dislodge her bag from herself. Her canine sunk into her lower lip, drawing blood; tears blinded her vision.
"Lay down." Cross helped her with her bag and dug through her supplies for the equipment he needed.
With his knife, he sliced away at her clothing, conscious about not catching her skin. She was exposed to the night sky, a small offering of pale flesh and warm blood to whatever God was spying down on them. The bullet from her torso was extracted, the tiny piece of metal making a clink against the asphalt. After the inoculation, he moved down to her leg, and his face contorted into alarm.
There was so much blood.
He panicked.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
She clenched her jaw extremely tight and exhaled through her nose in rapid gasps. When the bullet was procured and tossed behind his shoulder, he injected her with a stimpak. She was still soaking in the crimson Nile, and he injected her again.
"Heyheyhey-" She was beginning to nod off, and he cradled her into his lap and grabbed her chin, giving her face a light shake. So much blood. Her eyes were fluttering as she fought to stay awake. "Don't you dare fuckin' die on me."
I'm with you, Amelia. I'll be right here with you.
But I don't want to die.
"Evelyn," he ground out. Her breathing was slowing, and for a moment it appeared to have stopped altogether. He shook her roughly. "You better fuckin' wake up; your ferryman will have my ass."
A wheezed chuckle.
Thank you, God.
He kissed her face repeatedly, tasting the metallic copper from her blood on his tongue. His lips pressed against hers, and he felt her kiss him back weakly. He smiled and then rubbed at his face vigorously, marking himself like a demon in her crimson ichor.
"Man, oh man- you need an escort or a damn brahmin?" Campbell joked wearily, the lights of Carly's Lounge glinting at them in the cover of night. "This pace…I don't think I can do much mor'it. I'd have a better shot at Serrato all over again-"
Charon just rolled his eyes for the hundredth time and grumbled vexingly. He had paid the mercenary a decent amount of caps for the job, but he did not pay extra for the added side conversation. He glanced down; Campbell was hunched over, almost hobbling along. Maybe his pace was a bit much. It's not like they had stopped for long periods at a time; Campbell had been extremely disappointed to rediscover Charon's sleepless advantage.
"We got to stop for the night, ain't no way in hell am I going to miss the night at Carly's." He grinned, patting Charon solidly on the shoulder, ignoring the ghoul's mutterings. "You can't tell me you don't want a drink and a girl after these last couple of days."
It had only been mild confrontations for the ghoul; an abandoned town that was crawling with raiders they had strolled through- well, at least now it was abandoned. He was relieved and apprehensive that signs of Evelyn had not been found yet in their travels; the bounty hunter was good at his job.
They stepped inside the establishment, a woman and a young girl were at the front desk to await their requests.
"Heya Carly." Campbell gave a polite nod of his head, then tipped an imaginary hat down at the girl. "Ma'am."
"Campbell." Carly crossed her arms defiantly. "Suppose you're not here to cause any trouble too?"
"Trouble? Why-"
"That damn ghoul-" she glanced at Charon, "-I swear, that's the last time I rent a room out."
Campbell exhaled a chuckle, laying caps on the counter. "Cross was here?" Charon stiffened visibly to the side.
"Go take a look at the damn hole he left in the wall and you tell me," she growled, her dark eyes snapping to the girl beside her. "Go on, count the money and get their keys- log it in the right- oh, good girl. You're smart."
"Did he have a woman with him?" Charon ground out, and all of their eyes turned at him.
Carly gave him a once-over. "He did. Pretty thing- can't see the reason behind that. He's a sleazeball." Charon grunted; he liked this woman.
Carly then watched the transactions made with hawklike eyes. "If you happen to see that damn zombie-" she looked at Charon, "-no offense- tell him he's never welcome in the Lounge again, or I'll have Bob shoot him."
Campbell gave a wave of his hand, his key jingling. "Will do. Always a pleasure, Carly." He gave wide smile, and the two retired upstairs.
Charon felt the eyes of the younger woman trail along behind him until he disappeared from sight. They set inside their respective quarters, and the ghoul was about to begin cleaning his gear when there was a knock at the door.
It was Campbell.
"Going downstairs for a good time. You wanting to come?" He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "Be good for the road ahead."
Charon was about to shut the door in the mercenary's face, but hesitated. Evelyn had been here; that was the first sign he had received of her presence since she left him. If…if there were others, who could possibly tell him more-
"I will be along shortly," was all he said, and he closed the door.
"Oh my lord, Candy- take a look at that." The ghoul prostitute blew a cloud of smoke in the air, flicking the ashes to the side. "Glad I wore my good dress tonight."
The darker woman peered through the hazy smoke of the lounge, eyes tracking the overly large ghoul parting a small wave through the crowd. She hummed in appreciation. "He's bigger than Cross."
"He's bigger than them all," Irene giggled, bringing a finger to her mouth to pinch where her lips had once been. A habit was a habit, and they were hard to break. She twirled her gaze back to her counterpart. "So, yours, or mine?"
Candy had an amused smile on her face. "I'm already booked with Clive tonight, remember?"
"Oh, that's right." Irene primped at her patchy hair. "Wish me luck." She blew a kiss and began to weave her way through the throng, coming to his elbow as he sat at the bar. "Hey honey, you got plans for tonight?"
Charon turned to blink at her and said nothing.
"He doesn't talk much, hey Irene." Campbell leaned back in his stool, giving a nod of his head. "Heard Cross came through. You know when?"
Irene angrily smoked her cigarette, blowing it to the side while tapping her heel. "Yes. A few days ago- the bastard had a smoothskin woman. I ain't too happy with him right now."
"Did she look well?" Charon asked, snapping the woman's glare to his face.
"Who, the smoothskin?"
He nodded.
Irene angrily crossed her arms. "Everyone seems so damn obsessed with her; can't see how, way she talks to a man like that-"
Charon reached out and gently cupped a palm around her shoulder. "Please."
Irene looked down to his hand, then off to the side, visibly debating an internal struggle. She then said, "Yeah, healthy as a brahmin, far as I can tell." She gave a sharp nod with her chin to the bar. "Buy me a drink, and we can talk a little more."
Campbell raised an eyebrow at the exchange, blowing out a big breath of air and clapping the ferryman on the back. "I'll see you in the morning." He then ambled away with two glasses and a bottle, a beeline straight for his regular girl.
Irene took a seat, and Charon grumblingly ordered two drinks.
"So, you already count the-" Carly paused, stroking her fingers across her square jawbone. "You're good, Lydia. I like you." She then snapped the logbooks shut, stowing them back to their proper place on the shelf. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "I'm going for a smoke break; can I handle you to watch the desk? I'm trusting you now, you hear?"
A polite nod.
"Okay, just holler if there's any trouble." She shrugged into her broad-shouldered jacket, her heels tapping along the floor as she went outside.
Lydia blew out a breath, carefully shaking the ornamental snow globe of O'Hare International Airport and setting it back down on the counter. She then, too, peered at the hands on the clock. Only a few hours to go, and she could get some food and some sleep.
Make it work. The ghoul's words graveled through her thoughts, and she frowned to herself. He didn't know her; he didn't understand what her life had been like up to this point. He didn't know how much she had stolen, gotten beat for, hurt people-but here she was- a roof over her head, some caps in her palm, and three-square meals of decent food a day. It was decent living to be made, and not everyone was so lucky to have the chance that she was just given. That made her angry.
What right of it was his to give her this?!
She was crossly scribbling on a coffee-stained piece of paper when the ferryman staggered through the lobby, a ghoul woman by his side. She blinked at him; he too had asked about Evelyn; the woman with hair the color of the rich earth, and eyes like the winter sky. Did she have an affinity for just ghouls?
"C'mon, honey, it's not too far," Irene soothingly told the ghoul.
It was very strange to hear that gorgeous, lusty voice coming from the mouth of a woman that looked like that.
They both made their way up the stairs, and Irene met her peeping gaze and simply gave her a wink.
"So, honey, how do you like it?"
Charon was busily undressing and did not answer. His shirt came over his head, and he tossed it to the side.
"Right- silent and strong type."
For a moment, he panicked. He hadn't done this in so long, would he- remember? Even though he did not…want, Evelyn, in that way, their kiss had ignited something inside of him. He was a contracted, murdering ghoul; it did not mean he still didn't have urges. He could not continue blindly without Campbell; he was forced to wait until the mercenary was reprieved enough by the morning. For the moment, he had news that Evelyn was safe and well. And she was his employer, wherever she may be.
After a few drinks of some hard liquor- when was the last time he felt buzzed- he never allowed himself to be intoxicated around her, he did not want a conflict to arise and make him sloppy-
The prostitute was already at his pants; her dress was in a crumple on the floor. She did not look at him the way the deputy had; there was no hint of longing, or some other need he knew he could not fulfill. It was simple lust, and that was something he could tend to...at least he thought. It was over as quickly as it had begun, and he was minutely aware that she was still pinned beneath him. He gradually rose, sliding his massive girth from inside of her and sitting down to the side on the bed. He gave a snort and rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus against all the stars that swarmed his vision.
Small hands encircled around his wrists. "You okay, honey?"
He grunted in affirmation, inhaling deeply before he met her eyes. "I am fine," he said as gently as his grating voice allowed. "Did…did you enjoy it?"
She leaned forward, planting a small kiss on his mouth. "You know how to get a girl fired up," she answered honestly, adding, "sounds like you definitely enjoyed it."
"I did." He implored her eyes with his own. "I…I would like to try that again, if that is okay with you."
She breathily laughed. "Yes, that is more than okay."
