A/N: I have no rights or affiliation with the characters presented within this piece
Vacuus a Animus
Then: Friends and Family-Part II
Maxie Jones was tired and she had a pounding headache. It was late on New Year's Eve but she hadn't been out celebrating. No, she had been working overtime at the Crimson offices putting the finishing touches on the spring double issue that was Crimson's first time up to bat in the fashion big leagues. They had to find a way to comprehensively cover all the up and coming fashion trends in a way that was fresh and invigorating so as to put the magazine firmly on the map of awareness for fashion mavens everywhere.
It was no easy challenge because Maxie wasn't bringing her A-game to the table as she grappled with her memory loss on both the personal and professional fronts. She had to be caught up to speed about changed office procedures and a new computer system that had been installed. She had known all these things before but that knowledge had evaporated along with the experience of Robin's pregnancy and her evolving friend- or whatever-ship with Spinelli.
Truth be told, that last missing piece from the jigsaw that was her memory was the one that bothered her the most. It niggled at her, invaded her sleep, and compromised the fun she had on her dates with Matt. She wished she could either remember what had transpired between them or let it go. She hated existing in this vague in between world of feeling that Spinelli was somehow more important to her than she recalled him being.
It wasn't as though she had seen him very much since she had awoken. He had been shot and was only just now starting to fully recuperate. Then after the debacle on Christmas Eve at Kelly's, she had honored Jason's demand that she stay away from him. Well, she told herself that was why she was doing it but Maxie Jones wasn't scared of Jason Morgan-at least not much. No, she was choosing not to see Spinelli because she was scared to find out how it had been for them that perhaps they had embarked on a secret relationship. If it had happened, it had to be a secret because no one could say with certainty that they had been anything more than good friends. Maxie simply hadn't been up to finding out that she and Spinelli had been lovers.
What she had with Matt was more than she could handle at the moment. She knew there was no future for them. It had started out as something light and breezy, played for laughs. Lately though it had been changing and morphing into something darker. Matt was possessive, even obsessive-always needing to know where she was and who she was with. Well, that simply didn't fly with Maxie Jones who epitomized the concept of a free spirit. More often than not their dates would barely begin before they would deteriorate into screaming matches and she would storm out. He would show up an hour later bearing flowers or a chick flick DVD and beg her forgiveness and the whole cycle would start over.
Maxie had been grateful when work had become more demanding and she had a legitimate excuse to not see Matt for a while. She knew that pretty soon they would be having 'the conversation' and that it would be up to her to initiate it. Meanwhile, Matt had become infected with the Port Charles flu that was felling people left and right and he hadn't been pestering her. Maxie knew it was wrong to be relieved that poor Matt was ill and feeling terrible but she had been enjoying the respite from his rather oppressive company.
The reason that she was bothered by what might have or have not existed between her and Spinelli was the exact opposite of her situation with Matt. Matt Hunter was a known quantity to Maxie Jones. She had been in and out of relationships with men like him for years now. Either she pursued them or they chased her. It didn't really matter because it was mostly about sex and it always ended badly-always. Sometimes her heart was more invested and sometimes-as in the case of Matt-less so, but the relationships were never healthy and they just served to reinforce Maxie's opinion of herself as a worthless slut. It was familiar territory almost comforting in its well worn patterns-reactions, behaviors, time-lines-all of it predictable.
Not Spinelli, though, no-not him. Maxie absolutely remembered the friendship that they had formed or still been forming…she wasn't sure. He had definitely helped her get through her overwhelming grief when Georgie had been murdered. Then he had teamed up with her to find Georgie's murderer and they had succeeded. It hadn't fixed everything but it had helped bring some closure and she had been starting to move on with her life. She also remembered that.
It was so frustrating! She envied people that could look at the world around them and know exactly what they had been doing and who they had been with a mere eight months ago. One thing she knew about Spinelli was that he was overpoweringly shy. As long as Matt and she were together then he wouldn't come forward, wouldn't try to reclaim her-that is if he had ever had her in the first place.
Maxie was turning her car into her driveway. There was snow on the ground while still more fell from the sky. The night was fully overcast and as Maxie got out of the car she realized that something was different. Usually she could see the swirls of snow illuminated by street lights up and down the block. Yet, tonight she felt uneasy as she gazed along the street. It was all so very gloomy. The houses lining both sides of the street, with only a few exceptions, were uniformly dark as was her own house now that she was noticed it. She could only see one streetlight halfway down the block that was on all the others were unlit.
"That's odd," Maxie thought to herself as a little shiver coursed down her spine. "I distinctly remember Mac saying that he wasn't working on New Year's." She had actually been looking forward to spending the evening with him. They seldom spent time together anymore and it was one of the things she wanted to rectify in the upcoming New Year. "Maybe he went over to spend it with Robin, Patrick, and Emma….but he would have called me…"
She was pushing the key into the lock while still thinking about what she ought to do with the rest of the night. Part of her just wanted to take a bubble bath and spend a quiet evening in bed watching some movie. Another part wanted to see her family, be with those that she loved as they saw in the New Year together.
As she reached for the switch by the door to turn on the hall light she resolved to do two things. She and Matt Hunter wouldn't be making it into next year as a couple and as soon as that mess was taken care of she was going to look up one Damian Spinelli and see what he was all about. Her lips curved up into a contented smile. She knew instinctively that this was the right decision. Maxie hoped that if she followed through on it that a year from now and the year after that and maybe, just maybe-for the rest of her life-she would have someone always there and ready to spend New Years with her.
She walked from the hall into the darkened living room. Her foot caught on something large and soft lying in the middle of the floor and Maxie went sprawling. The minute she fell she knew what had tripped her-it was a body. She frantically scrambled back along the floor pushing herself away in a panic from the awful thing on the floor, all the while biting down on her hand in an effort not to scream. Maxie wanted nothing more than to shriek her horror into the blackness, to have people come, the light be restored and Mac hold her like he had when she had seen Georgie lying dead on the park steps. Yet, she couldn't scream because she instinctively knew that this body in her home was a result of violence and whoever had killed this night could very well still be in the house, even in this very room. Carefully-slowly and stealthily-she climbed to her feet. She was shaking all over and clinging to the curtains by the front window to give her an illusion of support and perhaps protection.
Maxie was hesitating, unsure of what her next move ought to be. She knew she needed to get out of the house and already her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, recognizing it wasn't absolute that there were shades, even gray areas. Still, it meant she had to go by the body again and she wasn't sure if her nerves were strong enough to do that. Maxie Jones was tough she was indeed but she was also brittle and she knew that about herself. She thought that what was happening here tonight might be the thing to cause her to snap, to break and lose herself forever. So, Maxie remained in frozen indecision in her artificially safe haven nestled into the living room curtains for what seemed like an eternity but was actually only a few moments.
A light sitting on the end table next to the couch was suddenly switched on illuminating the living room in a warm, even cozy glow. It wasn't a bright light but it seemed like a searchlight to Maxie's pupils which had fully dilated to adapt to the previous darkness. She squinted against the assault on her eyes and reflexively stepped back trying to move away from whoever had turned the light on.
"Maxie," the tone was light, debonair even, and immediately recognizable.
All of a sudden she was Maxie Jones again. This was her house and he had no right, no right at all to be here and especially to be playing such a mean, such a terrifying trick on her. More than ever her recent decisions to remove him from her life seemed entirely right.
"Matt!" She hissed at him as she stepped furiously from the flimsy shelter of the curtains. "What the hell are you playing at? You scared the shit out of me!"
He was just sitting there, his face half visible half shadowed in the light of the lamp. He was wearing a cocky grin but his eyes were dark and empty looking.
"Why, waiting for you darlin'," he drawled, "I can't see the New Year in without my best girl, now, can I?"
Maxie realized he was dressed in a tux though he had pulled the tie off and opened the top buttons of his shirt. She was puzzled and on the defensive, "We didn't have plans…" She trailed off uncertainly. She hadn't seen or talked to Matt for ten days. Maxie was compulsive about writing dates and engagements in her diary so that she didn't forget them. "We didn't." This time she said it with absolute certainty.
"Well, I'm hurt Maxie, truly I am." Matt's tone had taken on a fake sounding note of injured pride. "We may not have made any particular arrangements as such but with whom else would I spend tonight? You're starting to make me feel unwelcome with your attitude." He had stood up from the couch and was looking at her with an expression that was hard to classify but it made Maxie's stomach clench.
Even Maxie knew when it was wise to backtrack, to try and be a little diplomatic. Otherwise, she knew that this would start heading down the road towards a blow-up and a huge one at that. Briefly she wondered if Matt had been drinking but he didn't seem to be exhibiting any signs of it except that he was always a mean drunk. A feral smile lifted up the corners of his mouth as that last thought crossed her mind and he took a step towards her causing her to take a matching one back.
"Look, Matt," she swallowed as she tried to make her voice light and reasonable sounding. "I guess we got our wires crossed or something. I suppose it was natural for you to think we would spend tonight together but I haven't heard from you. Last I knew, you were pretty sick and I'm tired and have a headache. It's late and all I really want to do is go to bed. We can celebrate another night." Ha! Like that was ever going to happen.
Again, there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes as her total dismissal of him flashed across her brain. It was creepy, like he could read her mind or something.
"I wouldn't object to going to bed with you," he said it softly, as he stepped closer.
Maxie was suddenly entirely repelled by the idea of having sex with him, kissing him, or letting him touch her. Hell, simply being in the same room with Matt was starting to become pretty unendurable.
"Not going to happen," Maxie was back in control. "Not tonight, not ever again. As a matter of fact, you don't live here anymore. So, I really think you should give your key back."
It took every bit of considerable backbone she possessed to actually step towards rather than away from him but she did it. Maxie held out her hand, flicking her fingers to indicate that he needed to give her that key and to do it right now.
"Or what," he sneered, "You'll set you're Police Commissioner Daddy on me?"
"Something like that," Maxie responded with a bravado she was far from feeling.
"Well, why don't we check in with the man himself and see what he has to say about it." He was grinning wolfishly at her as he gave a slight sideways flick of his head towards the floor.
Maxie instinctively looked where he indicated and her eyes widened in shock as a strangled shriek erupted from her throat. She had no idea how she could have put the knowledge that there was a body on the floor of her living room out of her mind. Maybe it was the shock of Matt being there and their ensuing argument or maybe her mind had blanked it out in order to protect her. Whatever the reason, it was front and center now and it stripped away every artifice that had ever been Maxie Jones leaving only the core of a frightened little girl wanting her Daddy.
"Mac," the word was an inconsolable wail as she threw herself across the body of the first man who had ever chosen her, had wanted her.
All through her life, no matter how much they butted heads the one true constant in her existence had been Mac's solid presence, his unconditional and sweet love. He was lying on the floor and he was cold, bitterly cold to her touch. His eyes were open and glazed as they stared at something invisible to Maxie. At first she couldn't understand why he was dead, why he should be lying here.
She thought maybe a heart attack or a stroke and anger flared in her that Matt could have just been sitting here and doing nothing about it. She didn't know if he had witnessed it or not but to just sit in a dark house with the corpse of a man who had been nothing but kind to him. To let her come home to this and not to warn her, to actually act like they would be celebrating New Year's together while her beloved father's body lay chilling on the living room floor. He was a monster, he was insane!
Sobbing she bent over Mac. Maxie was trying to memorialize his features, those amazing blue eyes which were always full of life and love for his girls. His curly hair, still mostly black but with a few grey pieces that he consistently blamed on her but always with a mitigating twinkle in his eye. His handsome beloved face-sobbing Maxie reached down to turn it towards her to press her lips to his in farewell. As she turned his head, her hand on the right side of his neck felt something sticky and tacky. Pulling her hand back in shock she peered at in a daze.
It wasn't a heart attack, not a stroke. Mac had been injured. Once again she reached down to Mac's neck turning it gently but firmly so she could get a better look at the wound. At first she couldn't make sense of what she was seeing or perhaps her brain simply wouldn't let her comprehend it. On his neck were double trails of congealing blood snaking down from two large ugly puncture wounds located just under the juncture of the jaw with the neck.
Maxie gasped. She couldn't be seeing this, she simply couldn't. She was dreaming, that's right, she was having a nightmare. If she just flailed around or pinched herself she could wake up. Mac would be there and it would be the New Year all bright and shiny with its implied promises. Except that the realist, the pragmatist, the pessimist in Maxie Jones soul that told her things could always and would always get worse was on full alert. It was screaming one simple message at her, sending it sizzling along the neurons of her brain.
"Get the hell out!"
Maxie stood up abruptly, she let Mac's head fall back onto the floor where it hit with a resounding thump. She didn't even hear the sound. Her grief was outmatched by the combined response of her reptile brain and her adrenal glands. They were working overtime in a last doomed effort to save her, to keep Maxie Jones and her damaged borrowed heart alive one more time.
Maxie turned towards the entryway between the living room and the hall. It was the quickest way out through the front door and into the blessed biting cold of a winter's night. He was standing there, blocking her escape, grinning in amusement like a cat playing with a mouse before it pounces. Desperate, Maxie turned in the opposite direction towards the dining room which led to the kitchen and the back door. She ran, her heart pounding, her mouth dry, tears of panic in her eyes. He let her think there was a chance. She actually had opened the door and was beginning to slip through it when he pulled her brutally back and slammed the door shut. Several panes of glass slipped out and shattered on the floor in response to the force Matt used.
He had her trapped, her back against the door as he put a hand up on either side of her head effectively encasing her in a cage made from his body. Maxie twisted her head, trying to get away from the rancid smells emanating from his mouth as he curled back his lips. She could see the razor sharp fangs glimmering in the diffuse light.
"Maxie," he sounded almost regretful as he spoke. "I wish you wanted this as much as I do. It's not just the New Year we'll be spending together but forever-maybe not eternity but a nice long haul. You'll learn to appreciate my finer qualities and I'll be the envy of them all with you on my arm."
She was quivering, she had no strength left to fight with and there was nowhere to run to. She knew that she couldn't prevent him from doing what he was planning. Still, she was Maxie Jones and with her last words she was fierce and unbowed as she spat at him and said, "I'll see you in hell!"
"Exactly," Matt murmured, happy to have found such a literal little spitfire to embark on this new endeavor with him.
As he bit down on her neck and began sucking her life blood, Maxie started to remember. She remembered her Mother when she was little and had fallen off her tricycle and scraped her knee. Felicia's hair glowed golden in the light as she crooned to her daughter and told her it was going to be all right. Maxie saw her Father singing to her and Georgie and Felicia, he was playing his guitar and laughing at them and there was so much love… Maxie envisioned Robin and Patrick holding little Emma, starting a new life, one she wouldn't be a part of anymore. Then Maxie saw Mac, staring at her with the saddest expression in his eyes as he tried to tell her how sorry he was that he hadn't managed to protect her. She yearned desperately to speak and tell him that it was all right and that she loved him so very much.
She couldn't though she was fading and all she felt was a deep sharp sensation that was the pain of the fangs in her neck. Everything else was misty except for a pair of bright green eyes and a soft adoring voice that said "Maximista." She smiled then because she now knew that it had been love, he had loved her and she him. Everything was going to be better than she had ever imagined when Maxie came for him. She would dispose of Matt and then she would find Spinelli and give him the gift that was now hers to bestow…
Elizabeth Webber thought she had never before seen a more beautiful night. It was cold, below freezing, and she was only dressed in a light sweater and a pair of jeans but she didn't feel cold in the slightest. No, she felt exhilarated, lighter than air-she giggled as she realized that she was literally floating a few inches above the ground.
"This is fantastic!" she said out loud to the world at large, not that there was much world around at the moment.
She seemed to be the only person making her way through the snowy paths of Port Charles City Park. Like everything else neglected these past weeks in the city hit hard by the subversive flu that had compromised so many people, the paths hadn't been cleared and there was quite an accumulation of snow on them. As a matter of fact, it was difficult to tell where the paths ended and the park began the snow was so deep. There weren't any tracks, well not those caused by human agency anyway. Instead, there were many little imprints and lines and circles indicating the passage of everything from birds to rabbits to deer.
Elizabeth gasped as she realized that she shouldn't be able to see these animal tracks, not with the park in almost total darkness from all the lights damaged during the recent mob anarchy in Port Charles. Yet, she could clearly see the marks as easily as though it was broad daylight and she was reading a book. Not only that, but she could smell the scent of each animal that had left the individual tracks. She could tell which ones were several days old and which had been created only minutes ago. Elizabeth knew whether the tracks were made by a mammal or a bird and which type of each. She knew all this without any training or background in analyzing tracks-it was simply all a result of her newly enhanced senses.
"It just gets better and better," she whispered to herself with glee.
Spontaneously, she used her legs to push off the snow grabbing a tree branch fifteen feet above her head. Laughing with delight, she perched for a moment before once again launching herself from the tree she was in to one that was over twenty feet away. It was flying and she loved it! Elizabeth was entranced by every single one of her newfound powers. She felt the limitations to her new existence were more than balanced by the strengths, the endless possibilities…
Now though she really should stop playing and head onto her meeting. It had only been a few short weeks ago that she had encountered Ivan in this very park. She had been on her way to work a night shift at the hospital. The Russians had just been rather spectacularly evicted from the city by a newly empowered Sonny Corinthos, once again making Port Charles safe at night. In some ways having a strong mob presence in a city made it safer than a more conventional town only watched over by a city police force. After all, muggers didn't usually run the risk of being summarily executed in other cities as they did in good old Port Chuckles.
So, for the first time in a long time she had felt safe enough to walk through the park rather than driving everywhere with her windows up and the doors locked. It had been a mild late fall evening and she had been enjoying the solitude of the walk which was a rare and treasured commodity in the life of a young single working mother such as herself. She had tripped over an uneven part of the sidewalk and as she wildly pin wheeled her arms in an attempt to prevent herself falling she was suddenly caught from behind in a pair of solidly supporting arms.
"I've got you," a deep, warm voice breathed into her ear.
Flushed, she regained her balance trying to pull away from the confining arms which released their hold after grasping her a moment longer than was dictated by convention. Elizabeth spun around on her heel to observe her what-savior or something more sinister?
She found herself face to face with a dark haired man possessing an aquiline nose, full lips and piercing brown eyes. He was slender and of average height but carried himself with such erect posture that he seemed entirely imposing and even tall. As Elizabeth inspected him critically, still not sure if she should be standing here with him or running away as fast as possible, his face broke into a smile that transformed everything about him. It reached his eyes and made them dance with good humor. He had the whitest teeth she had ever seen outside of a tooth paste commercial. She couldn't help herself, the smile was infectious, and she found herself responding with a silly grin that she was sure made her look idiotic.
"That's better, "he said with a warm rich laugh. "Beautiful women should always have a smile on their faces. Otherwise they appear as cold and unattainable as a marble sculpture."
Now that he had spoken more fully, Elizabeth could hear the faint remnants of some accent that she couldn't quite place. One thing she knew for sure-he was the most undeniably sexy man she had ever met.
"Is that so?" She asked still smiling and tilting one of her eyebrows up in challenge to his statement. "We're all just cold and unapproachable unless we give you a come hither smile?"
Elizabeth couldn't believe that she was standing in City Park flirting with a total stranger. Her, Miss Reliable, the mother of two young boys, a dedicated and abstemious nurse-considered sweet but boring by so many.
"Well, it hasn't always been that way," she thought with defiance.
Once upon a time she had even been classified as a bad girl. If that was a somewhat exaggerated statement, at least she could claim the bohemian artist phase of her life as a passport to her right to be engaging in some form of a mating dance with this extremely attractive man who had just saved her delicate derriere from getting bruised.
"Ah," he said, enjoying their repartee. "One of the hallmarks of a gentleman is knowing when he has been out fenced and should leave the victor to claim her laurels."
"What might they be?" Elizabeth responded archly. "My laurels, I mean," she was starting to blush but hoped it wasn't visible to him in the faint light.
"Well," he mused seriously, "I think I see an intimate table for two. A wandering gypsy violinist and an excellent cabernet, all as an inadequate setting for the gem they would be surrounding."
He bowed low with a flourish and then looked up at her. He was no longer laughing and the intensity in his eyes at he gazed at her face created a melting sensation inside Elizabeth. She couldn't remember ever feeling such an overt sexual attraction to someone that she had just met.
"Are…are you asking me to dinner?" She was stammering like a school girl, all the flippant flirting of a moment ago seemed a distant memory and her question the most important she had ever asked.
"Indeed, if you'll come."
If she'd come! She would walk over broken glass to get there! Then she recalled why she had been strolling through the park in the first place.
"I can't, at least not tonight."
She was so disappointed that she felt like crying. What if he didn't offer the invitation for another time? Elizabeth felt like she would die if she couldn't see this fascinating man again.
"I am on my way to work and besides," she looked down deprecatingly at her clothes, "I'm not dressed well enough for any place nice."
He was smiling again. "I have just found you, I shall not lose you. You look charming," he tipped his head towards her in acknowledgement, "One ventures to guess that the proverbial burlap sack would look like haute couture upon someone of such surpassing loveliness. We will have our engagement, our date, another evening. I promise you." He spoke with a quiet assurance.
Elizabeth was blushing in earnest now, she was sure her face must be beet red. "Thank God for the mob war and the resultant darkness," she thought fervently. "So, I'll see you again?" She despised the neediness evident in her voice but she had to know.
"Well, it would be useful if I knew who you were. Otherwise, I will be destined to spend my evenings wandering this rather quaint park in the hopes of once again coming to your aid." His face was solemn but his eyes were twinkling and his voice had a teasing note to it.
"Oh," she recollected herself, how stupid! "I'm Elizabeth, Elizabeth Webber." She held out her hand and he took it in his and bending his head kissed it. Shivers of pure longing coursed through her body as his lips made contact with her skin.
He stepped back and looking straight at her said, "Ivan Vasiliyevich Petroskiy, at your service, Miss. Webber."
"Elizabeth, please call me Elizabeth," the words were barely audible as she fought to recover from their all too brief physical connection. "I…I should go or I'll be late."
"Allow me the honor of escorting you," Ivan stepped forward and offered her his arm.
Trembling, Elizabeth enfolded her arm in his. He looked down at her and gave her another of his brilliant countenance altering smiles. "I know that this meeting is the beginning of something extraordinary, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth had never made so many mistakes in one single work shift as she did that night. She miscalculated drug dosages, forgot to record vitals on patients' charts and had to be constantly brought back from her reverie about Ivan Petroskiy by an impatient and unsympathetic Epiphany Johnson.
"Honestly, Nurse Webber!" Epiphany fumed at her after calling her name for the third time. "You might as well have not shown up for work at all with all the mistakes you've been making and the wool you have been off gathering. There are magazine cart volunteers on this floor I would trust more with my patients right now than you!"
"Sorry, Nurse Johnson," Elizabeth blushed profusely as she once again apologized for her inattention and dereliction of duty. "I'm just a little distracted this evening."
"A little distracted, that's an understatement if I ever heard one. Now, if you can't get your head out of the clouds and back onto your patients' needs where it belongs then you are no good to me. If I have to admonish you one more time, I will put you on report and send you home for the evening."
"Yes, ma'am," Elizabeth was suitably chastened by the well earned scolding. "It won't happen again."
"No it will not." Epiphany agreed adamantly. Then softening her tone somewhat she asked, "What's gotten into you child. You're not usually like this. You're one of my most reliable nurses."
"I…I met someone and oh, Epiphany he isn't like anyone else I have ever met before…" She couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. She-sensible and down to earth-Elizabeth Webber was gushing over a man like a school girl with a crush. What was wrong with her?
Heaving a sigh, Epiphany muttered to herself, "I might have guessed-men! It gets to them all sooner or later. I just thought this one had more sense."
Elizabeth heard her and was longing to fling the name Touissant in her face. Epiphany acted like a star struck teenager whenever he was on the floor. Still, she knew she was on thin ice tonight and decided that discretion was her best option. Turning away from Epiphany's disgruntled glare, she mumbled something about checking supplies and made good her escape.
Two days later, Elizabeth was once again on the day shift and she was standing at the nurse's station when a bouquet of exquisite lavender roses was delivered for her. All the women-nurses, doctors, even patients and visitors-in the immediate vicinity gathered around to watch her read the card.
"Even with all the bounty of nature at hand, it is indeed difficult to find an appropriate reflection for one as divine as you. Please accept this poor substitute as my humble attempt at honoring your unparalleled beauty. I will be at your place of residence at 8 pm this very evening. My heart awaits impatiently….Yours, Ivan"
Even Epiphany had to admit that perhaps that a man who could write all that might be worth a daydream or two. All the other women plied her with questions-wanting to know who he was, where they had met, did his looks match his romantic streak and most of all, and did he have a brother or six?
Elizabeth barely heard a word of it. She was once again transported back to the other evening, back to all the unfamiliar sensations of mystery, allure and simple plebian lust that had haunted her every moment-waking or sleeping-for the past several days. He had remembered, they were going on that promised date and she was determined that it wasn't going to end with a chaste kiss at her door. Such thoughts, such brazenness were entirely alien to her but she didn't care, for once in her life she was going to follow her heart into the unknown, she really didn't have a choice.
She looked speculatively around at the group of gossiping women, who having had no useful response from her, were passing around the note and making their own conjectures. "Who should I ask to take Cameron and Jake for the night?" She mused to herself.
Finally, she was ready. It had only taken her three hours. First she had immersed herself in a bubble bath and then she had given herself a manicure and a pedicure. She had gone back and forth between her hair being worn up or cascading down in luxuriant waves. Her makeup was as flawless as she could make it. As she stood in front of her mirror she hoped she would please Ivan, that is all she desired to do-everything she had done was for him, for his approval.
She was wearing a flame colored chiffon dress with a tea length uneven hem. The triangular points of the hem were orange and yellow flicking up like individual flames until they merged to form a deep glowing red within the body of the dress. The dress had thin spaghetti straps and a scooped neckline. In the back it plunged down to her waist and molded to her hips. She had chosen to wear her hair down and her lips were a bright slash of scarlet in her pale face. She wore no jewelry-some instinct told her that Ivan would prefer she be unadorned.
The doorbell rang. Elizabeth was unsurprised to see that it was exactly eight o'clock. Turning she picked up her matching wrap and bag and went downstairs to greet him. Butterflies were flittering around her stomach making her feel slightly queasy in her anticipation.
His back was to her when she opened the door and as he turned to see her for the first time she was satisfied at his reaction. His eyes widened in appreciation and a soft exhalation-not quite a whistle-escaped his lips.
"Your beauty doth extinguish the stars," Ivan said stepping up to take her hand and press his lips to it.
Elizabeth closed her eyes in exaltation. She had spent the last several days either worrying that she would never see Ivan again or if she did that he would not live up to the memory she had created of him. Neither scenario had come to pass. Her entire body melted and burned at the same time as his lips met her skin.
Part of her wanted nothing to do with the elaborate dance of dinner and social chit chat they would embark upon for the next few hours before their inexorable coming together in unadulterated passion. Elizabeth knew that making love with Ivan would be unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Yet, the other part wanted the conventional agenda of the evening to be prolonged to draw out the anticipation and also to postpone the inevitable conclusion of the night.
Elizabeth wasn't sure that she might not be consumed by the feelings and sensations this man seemed capable of arousing within her by the lightest of touches, the most offhand of glances. What would become of her when they actually were nothing but skin to skin, soul to soul-might she not be destroyed in the furnace of sensation? Would she ever again be who she was a scant few days ago? It was an immense realization, shattering to her core but she could not, dare not relinquish the opportunity to know that other Elizabeth lying dormant within her. No matter what the cost, the die was cast and she was his.
As she accepted his hand and stepped off the porch walking towards the waiting town car, she recognized that every man she had once known, had thought of as exciting, virile, passionate-Lucky, Zander, Jason-were as nothing to this man striding besides her. They were simply boys while he was her destiny, her desire and her compulsion. After tonight she would never know, never want or need to know another man's touch.
A familiar figure was standing by the car waiting to open the rear door for them. Elizabeth couldn't believe her eyes, "Alfred!" She exclaimed in amazement.
"Good evening, Miss Webber," he replied inclining his head slightly as he pulled the door open and she started to slide in. "May I say you are looking enchanting tonight."
"Thank you, Alfred," Elizabeth responded, grateful to have a respite from her overheated thoughts. "I didn't know that you were acquainted with Nicholas Cassidine," she turned to Ivan as he sat beside her and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb.
"Yes, my associates and I are staying on Mr. Cassidine's island. We are hoping to persuade him to enter into a lucrative venture with us."
"It's a small world," Elizabeth uttered tritely, trying to absorb the fact that this gorgeous man had been hiding out on Nicholas' island without her awareness.
Still, she was glad to hear of the association. Somehow it imparted the imprimatur of respectability to a relationship that had been feeling rather irresponsible and illicit to Elizabeth. Sighing, she relaxed against the soft leather of the seat finally giving herself up to whatever hedonism the night might afford.
That date had been weeks ago. Elizabeth had a clear memory of the dinner-it had indeed involved candle light, a violinist, and a fine cabernet. Then they had gone dancing, it was Elizabeth's last coherent recollection of the evening.
They had simply stood on the small patch of dance floor, swaying back and forth in response to the playing of the jazz quintet. His hands burned the bare skin of her back while his lips traced the outline of her ear and trailed down along her neck to her clavicle as she shivered in longing reaction.
"Shall we adjourn elsewhere for the evening?" Ivan had asked her, cocking his head as he traced her lips with his finger. Elizabeth without conscious thought opened her mouth and drew it in-sucking along its length and eliciting a moan from him.
"Yes, now," she murmured husky voiced with desire, her eyes large and unfocused.
Everything from that moment on was a blur. She knew they had returned to her house, again driven by Alfred. Heat coursed through her whenever she thought of what happened but it seemed to be her body's memory and not her mind's. She supposed they had made love and she imagined it was sensual beyond description but she was frustrated in trying to recall a single detail.
After that night she had been ill. Elizabeth guessed that she had been incubating the flu all through her evening with Ivan. Perhaps that had been why she was so flushed, so intemperate. She spent the next several weeks in a daze. Sometimes Ivan appeared but she couldn't tell if she was dreaming or hallucinating or if he were really there. He would speak to her sometimes gently and kindly and at other times his eyes would glow with an unholy light and she would be frightened of him as he crushed her in his embrace.
She was weak and listless, uninterested in food and unable to care for her sons. They had been spending their days in the hospital day care center and their nights with a round robin of available friends and family. Elizabeth couldn't seem to care, she had no energy and what little strength she had remaining was consumed with thoughts and visions of Ivan. He had become everything to her and she only wanted to be with him. She would cry with disappointment when he would depart, when he was no longer with her whether it was in her dreams, her thoughts or reality-she didn't care, she just craved Ivan.
She had no sense of the passage of time, particularly the daylight hours. Elizabeth lived behind closed curtains, moaning in pain anytime a spare ray of sunshine happened to touch her skin. She assumed it was one of the symptoms of the flu and would disappear as she recovered-except it didn't.
Gradually, she grew stronger, more vibrant but she only truly felt alive at night after the sun had set. It was winter now and so there were more hours of darkness than daylight. During the day, she was like a hibernating animal, lying comatose in her bed only vaguely aware of faint sounds penetrating her room from the world beyond. As time passed even those sounds became more and more infrequent until they died out and the neighborhood was deathly quiet during the daytime hours.
Once the sun disappeared over the horizon people came out of their homes, climbing up from cellars and out of bedrooms barricaded against sunlight. Elizabeth joined them and sometimes Ivan was there. Those evenings she felt a fierce exhilaration and they would journey together away from her safe mundane house. Sometimes it seemed as though they were flying, gliding out over the harbor, impervious to the cold wind whistling around them. She was still in a fugue state, not quite fully recovered from her illness.
She had indistinct flashes of standing next to Ivan in a dank, filthy alley. Together side by side they moved towards a young woman quivering in panic and fear, begging them to spare her, to let her go. Then Elizabeth remembered the sweetest of tastes upon her lips, coating her chin, sliding down her throat to her empty stomach which absorbed the rich, red liquid and immediately demanded more. Ivan tipped her head back and their lips met in a macabre impress, sharing and smearing the life blood of the now still girl whose pleas had fallen on non-existent hearts.
Tonight though was different. It was the first evening in weeks when Elizabeth had awoken and was entirely clear headed and aware. She felt her difference, her enhanced faculties, her increased strength, her understanding of who and what she now was. She had gone in urgent search of Ivan, wanting to share her new vigor, to be the partner he had created for himself.
Elizabeth knew he would be in the park. "Men were so much more maudlin than women, even the undead variety." She thought cynically. "Ivan had the soul, well, not exactly," she giggled to herself, "of a poet.
He could sense her as she could feel him. She would find him in the park at the exact same moment and spot where they had met-he was a hopeless romantic and she decided she would indulge him this one time.
At the precise moment they had encountered one another mere weeks ago, Elizabeth emerged from the trees she had been flying through and landed directly behind Ivan. Startled he swung around, his fangs bared and even when he saw who it was he couldn't prevent a snarl escaping his lips.
"Elizabeth! What is the meaning of such juvenile behavior? I am your senior, your sire. You should treat me with appropriate courtesy and respect."
In his displeasure and agitation, his accent had thickened becoming more old country and less continental sounding. For the first time Elizabeth saw him as something less than suave, self-assured and urbane and it irritated her.
"I am not one of your courtesans," she hissed at him, enjoying the way his eyes opened in shock at her lack of fear and repentance. "I thought I would be kind to you and let you pick the place for us to meet. It wouldn't be my first choice but I know how much you like indulging in greeting card sentimentality." She had regained her temper and was grinning at him, letting him know she had forgiven his outburst-this time.
"You see, Ivan," Elizabeth continued smoothly, "You aren't used to American women or perhaps just not modern women. How old are you exactly?" She smiled at him sweetly, to keep him guessing as to how much of the sting in her words was actually intended.
Ivan was fuming. He had put a lot of time and effort into his creation. He had picked a beautiful malleable woman that he had visualized as the perfect companion to keep him company for a decade or two until he tired of her as he had of the two women that had accompanied him to Nicholas Cassidine's island. He had planned to make Elizabeth Webber his consort, to let her rule by his side over Port Charles and upstate New York. To see her so changed, a veritable harpy! He couldn't remember ever making so grievous a mistake.
"Well," he thought to himself grimly, his lips curling back in a silent snarl as he itched to slap her impudent face, "What Ivan Petroskiy has done he can just as easily undo!"
Elizabeth watched with detached amusement as Ivan impotently seethed over her disrespect and the perceived belittling of his superior status and lineage. She could clearly interpret the expressions of rage and hostility as they scudded across his face like thunderclouds. She even comprehended his intention to harm her in some way but it did not disturb her in the least.
When Elizabeth had first woken this evening she had every intention of coming to Ivan and taking her rightful place by his side, understanding full well that it would be her role to always stand a little away and behind him. In Ivan's world women were not quite the equal of men and their light could never be allowed to blaze as brightly as his own.
After all, it wasn't a concept that foreign to Elizabeth herself. She had always been ultra-feminine. When she was little she had been her 'Daddy's girl'. When she grew older she had become serially involved with men who wanted their women to lean on them, to be taken care of by them. She had never given any conscious thought to her role as daughter, girlfriend, wife, and now mother. She had simply followed the ancient path of nurturance epitomized by women since the dawn of time. Even Elizabeth's career choice-nursing-enforced the stereotype she was unaware of living.
Tonight had been a revelation for Elizabeth. She now was a creature of unparalleled strength, cunning, and almost mythic abilities. She didn't require anyone to take care of her. As a matter of fact, she was quite capable of disposing of vampires and people alike that aroused her ire. Ivan was looking no different to her than Zander or Lucky or Jason with their sexist caveman expectations of her.
The more she saw of Ivan the more he revolted her. "How dare he think he could dictate to me?" She thought to herself with a coldly rising fury. "He is a has been, a relic of a forgotten age. He thinks he is so sophisticated, so charming. Well, he's not! He's a third rate Eastern European aristocratic pretender. He doesn't have one particle of the true courtesy and breeding that Nicholas does!"
Ivan was lost in his own pleasant thoughts of how he was going to make Elizabeth pay for her impertinence, her audacity in challenging him. He did not see her observing with contemptuously narrowed eyes as she mentally ripped him to shreds.
"Nicholas," she crooned to herself, momentarily forgetting her rant against Ivan. "I think I might pay him a visit soon…" She had always liked Prince Cassadine but there was perpetually some simpering female in the way-first Emily and then that hayseed Nadine. That was then and this was now and the newly empowered Elizabeth Webber wasn't going to ask anymore, she would be taking instead.
There was one thing that Elizabeth had to do tonight before she could start her magnificent new existence. She had missed them and even though she wasn't human anymore, she still wanted to be with them. Now they could be together forever and she would take care of them always. Her boys, it was men, men, men in Elizabeth's life but this was one case when she didn't mind. She was desperate to see Cameron's bright smile and Jake's spiky blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes so reminiscent of his father. She couldn't be on this side of the mortality dividing line without them and they couldn't exist as they were on her side. So, she knew what she had to do and that it wouldn't be easy…but then they would be a family and she would give them the gift of immortality.
Elizabeth was impatient. She had wasted enough time with this impotent misogynist. She snarled warningly at Ivan as she turned away from him preparing to go in search of her sons.
Ivan had been entirely oblivious to the thoughts running through Elizabeth's mind. He hadn't bothered to attune himself to her tonight because he was furious with her and he really didn't care to hear her side, as far as he was concerned she didn't have one. So, it wasn't until she started to leave that it penetrated his consciousness that not only wasn't she repentant-she was actually rejecting him!
He grabbed her by the shoulder and swung her around to face him. "Where the hell do you think you are going?" He spat at her, his eyes glowing coal red as an emblem of his total and complete fury.
Suddenly, he was flying back through the air and found himself pinned against the trunk of a tree by Elizabeth's forearm. Her face was inches from his and he could feel her hot breath and see her ivory fangs as she growled angrily at him.
"It's not any of your business but I'll tell you anyway because you can't do anything about it. I'm going to go get my sons and bring them to where they belong to me-with me. After tonight, I don't ever want to see you again and if I do…" She pushed him so hard into the tree it started to crack and bend with the force of her strength.
Ivan didn't feel the pain or the pressure from her iron grip as she tried to make him and the tree one. He was horror struck by what she had just said.
"Children? You have children?"
She laughed harshly. "I guess my neck had you so tied up in knots that you didn't remember to ask all those little questions that usually go along with a first date. You know 'what's your sign?' 'seen any good movies lately' or 'have any kids?' Well, I do, two little boys and they're coming with me."
"Elizabeth," he hadn't known and if he had-well, he probably still would have taken her but at least he could have handled this part differently. "You mustn't change them, sire them. Whatever age you are when you cross over you stay that way forever. Children without a soul, without a heart, without the hope of ever maturing their physical body-it never ends well."
Loathing burned in her eyes as she listened to him. "Why should I believe a thing you say? You probably just think I am planning to saddle you with a couple of brats. Well, my children aren't like that and after tonight you and I aren't going to be seeing one another."
She shook him like a rag doll to emphasize her point and for the first time in decades Ivan felt the first stirrings of terror enter his mind. She was amazingly strong, he wasn't sure he had ever seen a newly sired vampire be in such absolute control of their powers, be so vibrant and overwhelmingly formidable.
"Perhaps," Ivan was backtracking, trying to mollify her. "Perhaps, you could wait ten or fifteen years until they are older and then transform them. It would be better for everyone…"
A cold inhuman smile broke across Elizabeth's face as she listened to him; it lit her eyes up with a profane glee. She snickered softly, "Do I strike you as a patient woman?"
There was a terrible ripping sound as muscle and sinew and cartilage separated. Ivan's head wearing a stupefied expression dangled from Elizabeth's hand as she casually held it by the hair. His decapitated corpse slid awkwardly down the groaning tree which would never recover from the night's assault upon it.
She looked down at her ghoulish trophy and hauling back she swung as hard as she could releasing the head into a high flying arc that deposited it deep within the woods of the park. She clapped her hands together as though to remove any remaining contamination.
"That takes care of that," she said to herself, feeling light and happy to be free of Ivan's oppressive presence. He was such a fuss budget, it was about time there was some new 'blood' in the vampire world. She was just the woman to show them all how it was done.
"First things first, "she chirped to herself, sounding uncannily like the Elizabeth of old. "Mommy's coming boys, you just wait she'll be there soon."
Once again the park was still and silent. The woodland animals that had gone to earth when the two creatures of the night had entered their preserve slowly started to reemerge. Quivering, with all senses on alert they checked out the silent remains of Alfred's once proud and darkly renowned Master. There had been an appalling shift in the natural order of things tonight and all of Port Charles would soon be forfeit. Off in the distance an eerie howling began...
Damian Millhouse Spinelli was bored! He was bored rigid, bored stiff, bored out of his gourd, bored to (almost literal) tears and the only expression he refused to add to his litany was bored to death (he could barely even think it, never mind say it) because even in his mental temper tantrum that one struck to close to home. After the last couple of months, after his own brush with mortality-Spinelli wasn't ever going to utter clichés concerning death lightly. No matter, the bottom line still held-he was bored!
"Stone Cold," he whined, looking up at his mentor standing on the ladder.
Jason was intent on aligning some piece of something-molding perhaps?-between the wall and the ceiling. Spinelli didn't know what it was, home improvement and do it yourself projects were out of his sphere of knowledge.
"What?" the response was terse and Jason didn't even bother to look away from what he was doing.
"The Jackal has nothing to engage his discernment, his attention. He is fast becoming a shell of his former intellectual self. He needs something to challenge his brain, to concentrate his mighty mental prowess. In short, Stone Cold, the Jackal is bored!
Jason sighed as he turned to look at Spinelli. He was still holding the crown molding in place while he rested the hand with the hammer in it on the top of the ladder.
"I don't know…Hey, why don't you check out the electronic side of things. This place is supposed to support wi-fi whatever the hell that is. Why don't you figure out if it does and where your computers and stuff are all going to go?"
A spark of interest glowed deep in Spinelli's eyes. He liked his Master's suggestion. Still, it wouldn't do for the Jackal to cravenly desert his post and thereby risk being court-martialed for neglect of duty.
"Are you sure there is no way for the Jackal to aid his Master, some task for which he can provide assistance?"
"No, nothing." Jason mentally amended it with, "Not in this lifetime, buddy!" His expression though showed nothing but a careful neutrality as he mentally shepherded his protégé into the other room where eventually they would have their office.
"Well, then," Spinelli said leaping up from the floor with alacrity, "I will do as Stone Cold suggests. Techno-Jackal at your service!"
He was gone into the other room and Jason smiled with a mixture of affection and relief as he got back to work. He added working with tools of any kind to the long and ever growing inventory of off limit objects for Spinelli. Hand guns had been the reason the list needed to be created in the first place a year and a half ago. Ever since then things had been added weekly sometimes daily and Jason occasionally worried that he couldn't keep them all straight in his head and should perhaps record the list somewhere. Honestly, he was worse than a toddler!
Just as Spinelli had feared, Jason heard about the flu ravaging the population of Port Charles. It was impossible not to be aware of it. Evidence of the health crisis was everywhere. The media had discussed it at length while public health posters popped up on walls and buses all over the city. Anyone with eyes in their head could see for themselves the deserted streets and shops. The people that were still going about their daily business fell into one of two categories, either they were completely healthy and unaffected or they shuffled around grey faced and hollow eyed, cringing anytime the sun popped out from behind the clouds in the winter sky.
Just as Spinelli feared he would, Jason put an immediate moratorium on his leaving the penthouse without his supervision. "We can continue to take daily walks to build up your strength. Otherwise, you don't leave this penthouse without my say-so. I am not risking you getting sick or having a relapse."
Spinelli saw the concern in his mentor's eyes and clearly heard the underlying note of worry in his voice as he spoke. He was touched by Jason's anxiety on his behalf and he was incapable of causing him further distress by disobeying him. The Jackal himself was entirely uninterested in spending another moment in bed due to injury or illness. This past year had been a trying one on both counts and he didn't want to be incapacitated again for a long time to come.
Still, it was extremely frustrating that just as he was feeling more like his old self and was once again desirous of going out and about through the town-especially now that it was safe to do so-visiting his old haunts and renewing friendships, he instead found himself under virtual house arrest. After seeing Lulu and Maxie on Christmas Eve he had found them-well, to be honest, really only Maxi-occupying his thoughts more and more.
Spinelli knew that Jason was serious about the girls staying away from him but he had thought that if he could start going out unsupervised that he might casually drop by Maximista's office at Crimson. Perhaps he could acquire some idea of how strongly nestled in her affections was that odious Dr. Hunter. Now that the Russian threat had been abrogated and he and Stone Cold were embarking on a legitimate business enterprise he wanted to explore the possibility of Maximista reentering his life-dare he hope-as more than a friend…
Alas, it was not to be. No, though once again hale and hearty, well, almost so, the Jackal was confined to quarters without any sign of relief on the horizon. Today was New Year's Eve but Jason, no respecter of holidays, had decided to come to their new offices on the wharf. He had been increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress in getting the workspace ready for his and Spinelli's inauguration of their private investigation business.
Jason understood that the problem was beyond his control, beyond anyone's power, it was a result of the impact of the flu on the working population of Port Charles. It seemed that electricians and carpenters were no less susceptible to a miniscule virus than bank executives and teachers appeared to be.
Yet, ever since he had decided to change his career path he had been impatient to embark upon his new profession. Just like Spinelli he was going stir crazy confined to the penthouse. His roommate had been right-there really was only so much solitary pool a guy could play before going nuts.
So, today he had decided that his New Year's resolution was that he was going to get the offices ready for business with or without workers. He was a pretty handy guy with a drill and a hammer, how hard could it be? He made Spinelli come with him because he could see how much he was itching to go find Maxie-Jason wasn't unobservant. He had meant it when he had decided that he didn't want Spinelli anywhere near her for a while. She always seemed to hurt his brother and cause chaos in Jason's life and he wanted a break from the drama that accompanied Maxie wherever she went. More to the point, Jason wasn't going to chance Spinelli being exposed to the flu. He had only just begun to recover from the gunshot wound and Jason couldn't face the idea of his getting sick in addition to that.
Spinelli had eagerly agreed to Jason's plan. Anything to get out of the penthouse! Besides it would be a bonding experience, he would help Stone Cold in his manly pursuits of drilling, nailing, painting and what not and in the process show him heretofore unexpected facets of his grasshopper's expertise.
As they had walked to the converted warehouse where their offices were located the streets were disquietingly deserted. They only saw two people during the entire journey and both times Jason had made Spinelli cross the street to avoid passing near them. It was clear from their pallid complexions and dazed expressions that they were flu sufferers. They seemed entirely unconscious of the presence of either of the men as they moved to get away from them. Jason felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at them skittering into the shadows to get away from the weak sunlight that occasionally broke through the cloud cover. Something was off about the situation but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
The day had been a disaster. Every assignment that he gave Spinelli ended badly. He had spilled paint on the hardwood floors, followed that by dropping a hammer on his foot and then he had almost impaled himself with the drill. Finally, Jason lost his temper and told him to go sit in the corner and not to do or say a thing. Spinelli had managed to keep quiet for a half hour before protesting his boredom in no uncertain terms. That was when Jason came up with the one task ideally suited to Spinelli's aptitude and intellect.
It had been peaceful and quiet for several hours now. Jason was actually getting some work accomplished and he could hear the rather soothing sound of rapid typing interspersed with silence coming from the other room. It had grown dark and he thought he would soon knock off and maybe they could go to Kelley's for dinner if it were open tonight. It was New Year's and he wanted to make up to Spinelli for yelling at him.
Meanwhile, Spinelli had ascertained that there was indeed a wireless connection available in their new office suite. He couldn't have functioned with anything less. He had been doing a few desultory web searches and had rapidly once again been approaching the threshold of boredom when an idea struck him.
"The Jackal should research this cursed flu virus!" He thought to himself with the first frisson of excitement he had experienced in a long while. "If I can but determine the causative agent, the signs and symptoms and most importantly, the expected duration of the epidemic-I will then be armed in my ability to assuage Stone Cold's fears on behalf of his grasshopper. Perhaps there is hope of a commutation of my unjust and wretched incarceration contained within my ever faithful cyber-companion."
He set to work with a will and immediately information poured out at the bidding of his nimble fingers. The flu had been an extremely newsworthy story. He was astonished to find that it wasn't just covered by the local media but was also reported as national news.
Port Charles, New York-Epidemic Hot Zone! blared one headline. "No End in Sight for Rampaging Flu Virus" was reported by another paper. He saw web casts of news reports, one as recent as today where a perky blonde anchor woman smiled inappropriately as she talked about the toll the flu was taking on the city.
"The city of Port Charles in upstate New York is at a virtual standstill. The number of people infected with this new flu virus has reached the tipping point. There are no longer enough people to maintain the vital infrastructure required for any city to run. All public services from trash collection to hospitals as well as the fire and police departments are at critical junctures and some have discontinued service all together. The city is in crisis. We now turn to our resident physician Dr. Timothy Britten to give us a more comprehensive picture of the situation. Timothy, what can you tell us about this unexpected turn in events in what was just expected to be a somewhat severe case of a community being impacted by the flu?'
Dr. Britten was dark haired with wings of gray over each ear. He wore wire rimmed spectacles and responded to the cheery anchor's question with a calm and reassuring smile.
"Well, Ashley, it seems to be a flu strain unlike anything seen before, at least in New York State. The Centers for Disease Control are reporting a high incidence rate-that is the number of new cases-but it is combined with relatively low levels of mortality or death-which is good news. The puzzling thing is that there seems to be no sign of recuperation within the population of Port Charles. In other words, people are struck down by the flu and they are neither dying nor recovering. Instead they simply seem to vanish into thin air. It is most inexplicable."
"Yes, very strange," Ashley agreed with another synthetic grin. "In addition to suffering through the flu epidemic the city of Port Charles is dealing with a second even more alarming crisis. There seems to be a series of killings occurring within the city. Over the last six to eight weeks there has been a steady discovery of bodies throughout the city and its surrounding environs. Most alarming is the fact that the number of victims seems to be increasing. Yet, with the depleted resources of the Port Charles Police Department they have been unable to fully investigate the crimes never mind pursue and apprehend a suspect. Based on similarities between the victims the murders are thought to be the work of one perpetrator or possibly, considering the numbers of victims and variety of locations involved, some sort of gang activity. It is probable that a liaison task force between city, state and federal law enforcement officials will be convened to investigate the murders. In other news those polar bear cubs at the zoo just keep getting cuter and cuter…"
Spinelli frowned, as he muttered to himself. "Murders? What murders, the Jackal hasn't heard about any murders. Perchance Stone Cold has heard tidings of them and chose to keep the information from his grasshopper during his recuperation. Might not it be an ideal inaugural case for the Morgan and Spinelli investigative firm? It would indeed prove our mettle were we to solve such a baffling and horrific conundrum."
Again he tackled his keyboard with frenetic fingers accessing information from Port Charles media sources as well as the Port Charles Police files. What he saw confused and startled him. There had indeed been a multitude of dead bodies found in and around Port Charles over the past several months. Initially the deceased were drawn from the few remaining Russians in the city as well as the transient and homeless populations. Bodies were found in the harbor, washed up on shore, in dark alleyways and out on deserted country roads. In the beginning, there were one or two found weekly but the toll soon increased to several bodies a day being discovered. All the killings took place at night and not a single witness has stepped forward to give information or to claim a sighting of a possible suspect.
"How could the Jackal be so ignorant of this grisly business?" Spinelli whispered to himself as he ran his fingers through his hair in stupefied reaction to what he was reading.
It was clear the Port Charles Police had no leads though of course they confidently informed the media that they had several promising avenues of exploration to pursue. The only other piece of information Spinelli was able to glean from the police files was the modus operandi of the killer. Each victim had died of exsanguination from a wound in the neck region. Some of the wounds were jagged and looked like a wild animal had ripped into the throat of the victim. In other cases, there was just as much blood loss but the neck injury only consisted of two small inconspicuous puncture wounds.
As of two weeks ago, the number of dead was still increasing but not the victims were being taken from the regular population of the city rather than the disenfranchised and criminal elements. Young boys, old women, housewives, accountants-there was no rhyme or reason to the choice of victims. Still, they were just as dead as the previous ones and the cause of death remained the same.
No matter how hard he searched, Spinelli could find no news story on the murders more recent than ten days ago, just before Christmas. As a matter of fact, he wasn't finding any local news about any topic. His fingers flew faster and faster as he cross checked newspaper morgues, tried to stream on-line video and radio pod casts-all to no avail. It appeared that all Port Charles media outlets had gone dark a little over a week ago.
"This…this can't be possible…" but Spinelli knew he hadn't made an error.
He had checked and double checked his findings. He had verified it-silence reigned throughout the city's journalism grid. Frantically, he turned to other local websites-the city government page, the library, General Hospital-he found the same result-nothing. Some of the web pages still loaded but as he ran diagnostics on them it was clear that there had been no visitation, no updating, no chatter of any kind. In the most extreme cases he just got an error message when he tried to access the site.
It wasn't a problem with the wi-fi signal. The rest of the internet and the outside world were still there-alive and vibrant as ever. No, it was Port Charles where the web, his natural domicile, his kingdom even, had collapsed and was now silent as a grave. Spinelli shivered involuntarily as he looked out of the office windows towards the harbor. He couldn't see it even though it was only a few feet away, it was snowing heavily and the whiteness blocked his view and turned the window into a reflective surface. He could see his pale countenance and the dark circles under his eyes indicative of his recent physical trauma. It was a face of dread.
"Think, the Jackal must cogitate…" Spinelli hunched back over his laptop, it had never before failed him and it really wasn't doing so tonight. He could hardly expect it to produce information that didn't exist. It wasn't a magical instrument though he sometimes regarded it as such.
He rubbed his wrist across his brow and tried to remember the last time he or Stone Cold had received a phone call or an e-mail or any type of
message from the world outside the penthouse. It was beyond strange that in this modern era of gratuitous communication their various devices had remained obdurately silent.
Carly! She had called Jason earlier today to wish him a happy New Year. He could tell from Jason's face after the phone call that she was unhappy, still struggling with her recent separation from Jax. Then he had received a text message from Lulu saying that she would hold him to that lunch date he had mentioned having early in the New Year. Spinelli hadn't heard from Maxie either but, except for the deep and hopeful recesses of his heart, he hadn't really expected to. Neither Lulu nor Carly had mentioned being sick.
What about the other people that were important to Jason and Spinelli-Elizabeth, Jake and Cameron, Robin and Patrick and baby Emma, Monica, even Sonny and Claudia? Were any of them ill, had they succumbed to this insidious and evil flu making its deathless rounds?
Spinelli sighed, he was a man enslaved by reason and ruled by logic and intellect. There was no room in his existence for the fanciful-particularly the mythic made flesh. Yet, all the books and movies and television shows about it, about them, must have arisen from somewhere. They had been formulated from the part of man's brain that was primeval that had once upon a time encountered true terrors in the night. Modern man thought that electricity, science and technology had banished all those superstitious fears back to whence they had come from. Yet, what if such assumptions were false? Spinelli wished fervently that it was the flu that had come to dwell in Port Charles. Unfortunately, he no longer could convince himself of that. The Jackal firmly believed that there were perpetually two elemental forces at play in the universe-no matter the time, no matter the place. Simply put there was always a war between what was good and worthy and what was evil and destructive.
Reluctantly, he left his chair, abandoning his cyber companion to its ongoing fruitless search for activity within the Port Charles web. If Spinelli was correct it wouldn't get a result. It would mean that the majority of the residents of Port Charles were now beyond the reach of the assassin of cyberspace one way or the other.
"Stone Cold," his voice sounded hollow and tired.
Jason ever alert to his roommate's behavioral nuances as they related to his health and well being looked up from what he was doing. "Yeah?" He answered with concern evident in his tone.
"The Jackal, that is I…we…how to say this," Spinelli stopped defeated.
It was the first time Jason had ever known Spinelli to be at a loss for words and he immediately went on full alert. "What is it? What's wrong? Did something happen? Are you all right?"
He dropped his tools and started towards Spinelli but then froze in mid-stride as Spinelli once again found his voice. As the words poured out of his roommate's lips and the auditory center of his brain interpreted them Jason was both stunned and dismayed by what he was hearing.
"Say that again," he ordered, suddenly concerned for his brother's sanity.
"The Jackal doesn't think that it is the flu plaguing the good citizens of Port Charles." Spinelli was exhausted from the mental battle he had to fight to just get the words out. He suffered from the sting of Jason's expression as he looked at him with alarm and apprehension in his eyes. "It's vampires, Port Charles has been infested with vampires and if we don't act quickly all will be lost!"