Yay, third chapter! Took some time, but now it's here. Warnings as always. Thanks to my lovely betareader for the support (without her I'd be lost).
"Josh?"
The boy turns his head at the familiar voice of the nurse. He stares at the officer standing next to her. His face is blank, no sign of sympathy for the child on the white hospital bed. The dying sun sends strange shadows dance over his wrinkled face and his eyes are almost covered by the large policeman cap on his head. Josh can still make out their color: a bright green with a small dark ring around the iris.
"This is Officer Lennon. He will ask you some question about what happened."
With a tender brush over his small shoulders the nurse leaves the man and the boy alone in the room. Josh watches the officer take off his cap and draw a hand through his maroon hair. He has very thin hair with thick strands of gray in between. He carefully sits down next to the small figure of the child. Josh's eyes never leave his unmoving face.
"Tell me what happened to your mother, Josh."
Josh snuffles and starts to draw thin scratches over his small pale arms with tiny fingernails.
"She's dead," he says. The eyes of the officer investigate his eyes but they seem to go right through him. He doesn't see him.
"Who did that to her?"
Josh stares at the white blanket he sits on. The last beams of sun fall onto his naked legs. The nurse had taken his clothes when she washed off the blood on his skin. She then gave him a white shirt with blue dots ornamenting the surface. Josh picks at the thin fabric.
"Josh?" the officer asks and slightly leans closer to the silent child. "Who was it?"
Josh looks up, directly into those hard green eyes with the small dark ring around the iris. The wrinkled face is blank.
xXxXx
"What the fuck happened?"
Mercury is at his side as soon as Deacon steps through the heavy metal door. She sees the limp body of the pet in his arms and hisses.
"What the fuck is this?" she yells and paces after him.
Deacon heads straight to his bedroom, ignoring her furious attitude, and lays the unconscious human down on the red mattress. He turns to search his pockets for his mobile phone. The pet is barely breathing and from what Deacon can tell, the wounds on his stomach ripped open again, as thick blood starts to ooze out.
"Did you get my call?" he asks. Missouri's number is on speed dial and he curses as his bloody finger slips over the smooth buttons.
"Yes," Mercury snaps and throws him a furious glare. "The guards are positioned around the building. Quinn checks the clubs and I locked all shutters – just in case."
"That's not enough," Deacon mumbles. He clenches and unclenches his fingers as he waits for someone to pick up.
"Missouri, get your fucking phone already."
He is just about to throw the little black thing away in frustration when he hears a crack and a snarling voice appear on the other end.
"Missouri here. What case of dying bastard have we this time?"
xXxXx
Missouri leans over the pale body in front of her. The bloodless complexion of the pet creates a hard contrast to the deep red of the mattress underneath. She wrinkles her small nose at this; Frost's taste of furniture hadn't changed in 40 years.
"So, where'd you pick up this poor bastard?" she asks as she shoves her glasses back onto her nose in a habitual move and inspects the bite wounds on the arms of the human.
Deacon paces around the room, strained and throws her an annoyed look. If this damn pet died he would lose his only advantage against Anton and probably be dead himself by midnight. But, no, of course Missouri had to satisfy her fucking curiosity first.
"He was Anton MacHorvath's pet. I took him with me," he answers tersely.
Missouri turns her head and raises an accurately plucked brow. Deacon growls, which earns him a warning finger wave in his direction.
"Don't you growl at me, mister! I'm not here to be fucked with. Do you even know what bad condition he is in? Who do you think I am? Some stupid show doctor from ER?"
"Oh, you mean like George Clooney?" Quinn asks excitedly, standing next to a still furious and pouting Mercury.
"Shut up, Quinn!" Deacon and Missouri bark at the same time.
Missouri turns back to the unconscious pet. That poor bastard probably doesn't even take notice of any of this hysteria around him. With a deep sigh she opens her medical bag made of the finest of snakeskin and pulls out a small syringe.
"I'll give him some garlic, just in case," she mumbles and fills it with the for vampires deathly liquid. Deacon wrinkles his nose at the smell of it.
"Garlic? That's it, I'm out!" Mercury throws her hands up in the air as she stomps out of the room, Quinn quickly following her. Deacon looks after them and clenches his jaw in frustration. Mercury meant the world to him, but sometimes she annoyed the fuck out of him with her way too short-tempered nature.
"Frost, move your glory ass over here and help me, will you?"
Missouri steps to one side of the bed and flips the tip of the syringe. Small drops of garlic pour to the surface and drop down on Deacon's expensive bedding.
He decides to burn them later.
"Hold him down in case he begins to thrash around. Otherwise he'll decorate your terrible white walls with his guts."
The small woman bends down, brushes some of the sticky hair aside and with a familiar move draws the tip of the syringe through the sensitive skin right over the weakly beating pulse. Deacon holds the pet's bony shoulders down and watches his face closely. When the human stays still, fear starts to gnaw on the inside of his chest.
"Will he die?" he asks anxiously.
Missouri shoots him a downright judging glare over the edge of her frameless glasses.
"Course not, you fucking idiot. I don't kill my patients; I repair them. And now get out, I need space and your vampire mug pisses me off."
Deacon carefully lets go of the human's shoulders, his hands hovering for a moment over the soft skin before he slowly steps away from the messy scene. Missouri already turned her back on him and searches her medical bag for some gauze and disinfectant.
xXxXx
There is fire all around him. Hot flames licking at the skin at his arms and legs and his stomach feels like it's going to burst. Scud winces and clutches with weak fingers at the soft fabric under his stiff body. It feels like acid runs through his veins and angrily gnaws on his very essence. His eyes fly open as his hearts wrenches like its torn out of his chest by invisible hands and he is blinded by white glistening light.
His mouth opens to scream, but no sound fills his ears. The fast rush of hot blood through his head covers any other sound. Scud panics and tears at the thin fabric between his trembling fingers.
Suddenly a dark figure breaks through the bright light; its shadow covers his eyes and takes the sight. Then there are hands all over him that press him down onto the ground.
Scud screams, at least he thinks he's screaming because the grip loosens for a second. He sees his chance and releases a hand from the cold claw around his wrist. As his knuckles hit a hard cool surface Scud groans. He writhes in pain and thrashes his head around as strands of brown fly into his vision and brush over the numb surface of his face.
There are hands again but this time they didn't let go when Scud screamed in sheer panic and confusion. Instead a heavy weight settles next to him and there is the light again. It shines so bright, just like the sun.
Scud falls silent and stares into the pure white. He hears something like a whisper, a row of voices all around him. He can't make out from which direction they come from for they seem to be everywhere.
His head falls to the side as strength leaves him again. Darkness crawls over his body, which takes hold of his mind and blackens his vision. Before Scud sinks back into the dark he can make out a pair of light blue eyes, staring at him through the clouds of fading consciousness whilst the whirl of voices around him calms and dies out completely.
xXxXx
"This pet is thoroughly damaged. Have you even seen the wounds? And don't get me started on his mental condition. What would you want with him, Frost?"
Deacon looks up and investigates the small woman in front of him. Missouri is old, wizen and not the most charming person, but who is he to complain about discourtesy? She always did her job well and already saved a couple of his more loyal followers who deserved to stay in his circle of confidants and familiars.
"Missouri, I am surprised. You are usually not that chatty."
A slight grin crosses his features when the woman snorts and closes her medical bag. She immediately had packed her things after anesthetizing the screaming and fighting human.
"I'm just doing my job, Frost and I would like to stay alive while doing so. I am not looking forward to a revenge act by his former master," she says and again looks at him over the edge of her round glasses.
"Don't worry, when I took him he wasn't MacHorvath's pet anymore. If he should choose to assault me for my actions, he will have to suffer the consequences."
Her body may be old but her spirit and mind are young, this Deacon knows when she searches his face for any sign of peradventure, but no one reads Deacon Frost that easily, not even Missouri.
She sighs heavily and shoulders her bag.
"Well, if you are sure about this, Frost, so be it. Now, will you move your honey body and open the door, please or do I, the old lady, have to do this by myself?"
As hard as it is to admit, he has something like respect left for Missouri and her work. As much respect as he could have for a human, of course.
He leads her to the door, winks her goodbye – for which he gets some mumbled insult – and finds himself moments later standing awkwardly in the living room, not sure of what to do now.
It's not like he doesn't have anything to do. Deacon Frost is always busy and now that Anton refused to get his fucking job done, Deacon has to find an alternative solution.
With a defeated sigh he searches his pockets for the familiar feeling of a cigarette pack. Smoking doesn't really calm him, the nicotine has no effect on his metabolism but he likes the feeling when the smoke floods his lungs and he can pretend like he needed to breathe again.
Deacon doesn't miss being human, this he tells himself every time.
He looks down at his shirt. What has been a clear white is now covered in dark red. The stench of that pet is all over him. Deacon inhales deeply and the tip of his cigarette burns up.
xXxXx
The glass hits the kitchen floor and shatters into a thousand little pieces.
"Don't move, sweetie!"
Josh watches the little crystals slide over the floor as his mother quickly picks him up and carries him out of the room.
"Are you mad?" he asks and sheepishly looks up at the woman through his dark lashes, but she just smiles and pinches his round cheek.
"I'm not mad with you, Josh, it's just a glass after all, but let's not tell Daddy about this, okay?"
The child nods. His mother smiles and heads back into the kitchen, leaving him with a not completely calmed conscience sitting on the small, smelly couch of their living room. Josh looks out the dusty window as his mother collects the little crystals.
Suddenly she yelps and clutches her hand as red streams down her wrist.
"Mom?" Josh calls out worriedly.
"No, it's nothing!"
She looks up at him and shakes her head, the blonde curls swinging with every move she makes. They glister in the light of the late sun.
"Stupid me, I cut my skin with the glass…"
Josh watches her get up and carefully step over the shattered mess to the sink. A line of red dots follows her feet.
"It's just blood, darling."
The woman turns around and smiles at the silent child.
Everything is red.
xXxXx
His eyes open to the sight of a plain white ceiling.
Scud blinks a few times against the blur confusing his vision. His body feels heavy and a little numb, but he can still make out the soft mattress he lays on. There's a tingle in his fingertips and as he tries to wriggle with his toes he can hear the slight creak of bones. When he was younger one of his roommates in the orphanage had dropped a big fairy tale book right onto his toes and since then, they creak when he bends and curls them. Scud wonders why he remembers this now.
With a careful move he turns his head and sees a wall, which is just as white as the ceiling. The whole room is painted in a spotless bright white.
He pushes his body up from the soft mattress and ignores the sudden feeling of dizziness. His limbs feel heavy like he had slept too long. When he sits up a sharp pain shoots up from his lower body. His gaze drops down.
Where once had been the smooth soft skin of his stomach is now a thick bandage wrapped around his waist. Scud frowns and tugs at the gauze. It smells strangely familiar, like it is bathed in some spice.
"You're awake."
He looks up from his bandaged body and takes sight of the man standing in the doorway. Scud blinks and rubs over his eyes. His mind is too clouded to get a hold of the situation.
"Where… wher-"
What comes out of his mouth doesn't sound like his voice at all. It is just a raspy slur, slow words formed by chapped lips.
"You are at my house, the house of Deacon Frost."
Scud stills. His vision blurs and sharpens steadily like he got one shot of booze too many. When he looks up again, the man hasn't made a move. He just stands there and watches him closely.
Scud covers his stinging eyes with the palm of his hands.
"Deacon Frost?" he repeats. The name sounds familiar but he has no connection to it. Or maybe his brain just wouldn't let him. Everything feels so numb, like it doesn't belong to him.
He just wants to go back to sleep.
"You slept two days through. No wonder, your former master almost killed you. It took several of my saved blood bags to catch up with your loss of blood."
There is a growl in the voice, like Scud did something incredibly stupid, but if he did, he can't remember.
"I feel dizzy…" he mumbles and his arms fall limply into his lap. He stares intensely at the man in the door way or what he could make out of his form.
"The doctor who saved your pitiful existence is a genius, but your wounds will take some more time to heal. Sleep, human, you have a purpose to fulfill."
The man turns around and leaves the room and a confused Scud alone with his dazing thoughts and blurry mind. Scud stares at the closed door for a little while before he slowly sinks back into the pillows, a deep sigh leaving his tired body, too tired and numb to even notice the painful straining of his stomach's skin.
His eyes fall shut and this time Scud doesn't dream.
xXxXx
When he wakes everything around him is dark. Scud's breath quickens as his heart beats painfully hard against his ribcage. He doesn't like darkness; it wakes unpleasant memories in him.
He stretches his arms out to feel for his surroundings. The tips of shaky fingers knock against a cool surface. He lets his flat hand wander over it. It is smooth, no sign of a button or a crack.
'Stay calm,' he tells himself repeatedly but panic rises and presses down on his lungs. Where is he? How big is this thing anyway? Is he buried in a coffin again like that one time when Anton wanted to punish him for… for…
Scud whimpers.
"Master?" he calls out but his voice is shaken by desperation. "Please, let me out. I'm begging you, whatever I did… I will do anything… anything-"
His voice dies, the sound of it covered by the loud thudding of his own heart beat in his ears. Scud bites his lip and clutches the fabric wrapped around his naked body.
"Master Anton?" he calls again, quieter this time because tiny sobs began to take hold of his tensed up body.
Suddenly he hears something unlock and the top of the strange room around him lifts up with a mechanical sigh. Bright light falls into his eyes and forces his pupils to narrow.
He blinks up at the tall shadow hovering over his form. Scud's heart skips a beat, as he makes out a pair of cold light blue eyes staring down at him, investigating him callously.
"No," the man says and tilts his head at the human. "It's Master Deacon now."