Chapter 10: Dreams and Lies
Today, I thought I saw you…
Why does it all seem so very strange?
I'm haunted by these things.
Have I gone mad, or maybe insane?
- 'Haunted', Coven 13/Seven 13 (not sure why they changed their name)
Hey, guess what? I have come up with an elaborate (if somewhat pathetic) scheme to get you guys to review! If 10 people review this chapter, I will write a ficlet involving Reid and Kat. There could be alcohol. There could be lemony goodness. Basically, I'm bribing you. Cool, huh? (Yes, I can write fanfiction about my fanfiction, because I am just that awesome.) Feel free to drop a line telling me what a stupid scheme this was, too...
Kat is walking towards him across a great field, a field of gray cats and winged flowers that smell like rain. Her feet do not touch the ground, but he can see the shadows of paws trailing behind her. She is wearing fur, or maybe nothing at all, and it is only a trick of this strange halflight that makes him see a pelt.
She smiles at him, her hands reaching out, somehow close enough to touch him, now. Her hair is long and wild, but it seems to him that, if he were to stroke a hand across her head, he would feel choppy remnants of the length he sees before him. Her mouth is red, red like blood.
"Come here, babe," she says, that throaty rasp in her voice. Her fingers trace his cheeks, and he finds himself flying.
He kisses her, numbly, and she bites his lip just hard enough to make him gasp. He feels her press against him, her lithe body stronger than it looks, the muscles of her abdomen powerful against his hands. She is warm, living, so solid and present. He looks into her eyes, kissing her, and realizes that they are not really kissing but fighting, struggling against each other, her yellowgold eyes burning against the gray backdrop as the cats crowd around on silver clouds.
He breaks away, and they are flung apart, a writhing force between them. Black smoke whirls from his mouth to hers, a connection that drips crimson condensation. She is naked, he sees, but proud in her nakedness. Somehow, nude, she is a goddess. Her back arches, and he sees that she is a wolf, or a woman, but a wolf, or
and
"I loved you," she says now, her
(paws)
hands clenching, threatening. She tosses her head, her long hair
(fur)
whipping back.
"And you let
me
die."
And he is dreaming, he knows he is dreaming, but Reid still cannot seem to wake up.
The dream shifts now, the multitudes of cats that swarm around their feet stretching and molding like nightmarish wax figures set alight, their bland features elongating as the tallow of their fur and skin pulls itself into surrealism. Reid watches in horror as the cat-things slash at each other. They are at least four feet tall now, standing on two misshapen legs, what should have been their forearms now grotesquely lengthened and swinging at their oddly-jointed knees. The faces… the faces are pointed, sharp, the mouths dropping open to reveal tongues like fishhooks. The eyes, Reid sees, are bluish-white and blind.
Backing up, he trips over one of the things, the black swarm of badness that connects him to Kat dissipating. Kat, he sees now, is gone, her scream still echoing in his ears. Reid screams too as the cat-things jab at his waist and neck with their barbed tongues. He searches for a sign of the woman-wolf he
(loves)
can no longer find, catching sight of a pale, blood-streaked hand and arm emerging from the wash of grayish creatures. Kat's fingers are too long, too strong-looking, to be real, but he knows they are hers. They clutch at the air wildly, and it seems to Reid as if the pain from the things' teeth on him is far off and distant compared to the vividness of the blood streaming from the torn fingernails of that desperate, seeking hand.
He tries to stand, but there is a pressure in his chest, deep in, and a voice from somewhere inside is laughing, and Kat's hand is suddenly torn nearly in two as one of the cat-things attacks it and rips three of her fingers away. There is a piercing shriek of pain from beneath the swell of fur, and then the arm vanishes, swept beneath.
Reid hears himself screaming, and then the scream is cut off without warning. The cat-things are gone, Kat is gone, the field is gone. He is floating on his back in a clear lake, looking up at a purple sky.
Somewhere, someone is singing.
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Regina looked warily at the unconscious boy slumped in the passenger seat beside her. He was twitching, his lips tightening and relaxing as if on a timer. She'd reclined the seat as much as it would allow, letting him sprawl at a loose angle as opposed to the sharp 90 degrees of her own seat. His legs were too long to really fit in the compartment beneath the consol, but she hadn't been able to find the button or lever that would move the seatback, so he would just have to deal with it. She snorted. It wasn't exactly as if he was feeling any discomfort at the moment, anyway.
She'd managed to push and shove the American across the divider between the driver's and passenger's seats, doing her best to keep from letting his head smash against the window. Regina glanced at him again, noting the elegant line of his nose, the wide sweep of cheekbones, and the thick, white-blond hair. He was, she realized belatedly, what her sister would call 'mignon'. Celeste rarely doled out such titles, and for some reason refused to use any word stronger than 'cute' for boys, but this particular boy would definitely warrant the compliment. Regina cocked her head, allowing her mind to briefly wander. She wondered what Reid Garwin would look like as a woman. It wasn't hard to imagine; his features were delicate already despite the obvious strength in his sinewy arms. The hair would probably be longer, or maybe short and spiky. Yes. Girl-Reid would be punkish, and would probably have an eyebrow piercing.
Regina laughed a little at the image this train of thought conjured up: a tall, slender woman with tight leather pants and a black jacket, short white-blond hair spiked above the pale, devilish face. She shook her head. She really had to stop doing that, she knew, but it was compulsive. She had yet to meet a woman who met all her standards, and she couldn't help transforming the attractive men she met into females just to compare.
The sign for the airport came up on her right, and Regina flicked the turn signal of Reid's car. His last words, before falling into this semicomatose state, had more or less told her to get them to California, so that was what she was going to do. She had some money, and when she'd checked his wallet, so did he. Regina wondered why he wasn't flying already. Were the police after him? Was he afraid his credit trail would be traced? She knew she should probably call the Ward and get them to find out the situation in Ipswich, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Regina had made her choice, and she knew she had to stick by it.
Regina pulled into the first parking lot she saw, cruising the aisles until she found a slot. The airport was a small-town deal, and it didn't take her long to realize that this parking lot was the only parking lot. Thankfully, it was right in front of the airport itself.
The only question was, how was she going to get an unconscious young man who weighed at least fifty pounds more than she did out of the car, into the airport, and onto a plane?
Regina got out of the car, looking around her. This was something that could turn into a major problem, one she hadn't really considered when she made the split-second decision to toss the rulebook over her shoulder and slide into the driver's seat of Reid Garwin's expensive car. Her eye caught on a small white sign a few rows down, and held there. An idea formed.
"Now," she mused aloud, her English coming out low but clear. "Where to find a wheelchair?"
888888
Regina smiled confidently at the man behind the counter, her French ID card and passport on the Formica.
"And… you are seeing your cousin's doctor in California?"
"Oui," Regina said sweetly, letting her accent take over. "I 'ave brought 'im all the way from France, to see this specialiste." The man nodded slowly.
"I'm still going to need to see his passport, ma'am."
"'E does not 'ave one," she said sadly. "It is a law in France, you see. Small babies, they 'ave no passports, oui? It is the same with… those with problems, in the head, you know?" The teller blushed a bit, embarrassed for the poor French girl and her retarded cousin sprawled in the wheelchair behind her.
"I see," he said quickly, and Regina's smile widened. He knew nothing about France, as she'd expected. "I'm… Well, we've got a flight right away, actually. It leaves in about an hour. Are you inter-"
"I'll take it, merci."
And, passing over the money she had left in her wallet plus that which she'd gotten from Reid's at the ATM machine, Regina had two tickets to Los Angeles, California.
She thanked the man once more before turning to the wheelchair where Reid was still out like a light, pushing it gently ahead of her. Her heart was racing, but her steps were measured and calm.
"Good boy," she murmured to the blond head that lolled briefly against her hands. "Just stay asleep, and everything will be fine." Regina wasn't at all sure if that was true, but she was certain that if Reid woke up and had another… episode… of thrashing and shouting and changing his eye color all over the place, they would both be in a lot more trouble than she'd get in if anyone ever found out who had stolen the wheelchair leaning against the back of a taxi just outside as its owners paused to pay the driver.