Wings of Blood and Cruelty
A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.-Friedrich Nietzsche
Chapter 7 - Preternatural
Amanda Eaton, dressed in a pair of jeans and a light blue blouse that buttoned down the front, was headed to the kitchen for something to eat when she was stopped short by Peter and Roman's conversation.
"Jesus! Sworn was going to blow up the white tower!" exclaimed Roman.
She crept closer as their conversation continued, though she was startled when she heard the chairs shuffling and realized she'd been eavesdropping. Ducking into the parlor and embarrassed over her actions, she was just out of sight. Luckily, she saw that Norman was no longer on the fancy sofa and breathed a sigh of relief.
When Roman and Peter exited through the front door, she went into the kitchen and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge. She selected a slightly green banana from the bowl on the table and set the yogurt next to the baby monitor she had carried with her. She had just gone to search for a spoon for the yogurt, when she heard the gunshot. She faded from sight, reappearing outside behind Peter, gliding in from a slow fade to a solid, and knelt down to see if she could assist.
Peter Rumancek, who she had met the night before, was kneeling down next to the body of Roman Godfrey, her employer. Peter lifted his friend up and began rocking him slowly. There was blood on Roman's chest, close to his heart, and another wound on his back where the bullet had exited. She placed her palm to the back wound. As her hand came in contact with upir blood, she visibly started. Why hadn't she sensed before what he was? He would probably heal on his own but she said softly, "Cneasaigh."
With blood on her other hand, she placed her clean hand on Peter and felt her suspicions of the other night were confirmed. He was a werewolf. These two just might be the allies she was looking for or they could be her ruination. If only she could trust them.
Amanda stood up and scanned the hillside with her preternatural eyes for signs of the sniper and found him.
Peter heard the shot ring out and saw Roman fall. "Roman!" He hurried to his side and knelt down to join him on the concrete sidewalk, noting the blood on his chest coming through his shirt in an ever widening circle.
Roman managed to say, "It's okay, Peter. I'm ugly. It is what... I deserve."
Peter said, "No man. You don't deserve this. Hang in there. I need you, man. We have a suped up werewolf to kill."
Amanda said from behind him, "Where was he shot?"
"Chest," said Peter, looking back at her. He hadn't even heard her approach. Roman went limp, and his breathing was labored.
She knelt down beside them, placing one hand on Roman's back and the other over his own. She whispered something to Roman, but he couldn't hear what it was.
Amanda stood up and looked around, focusing her attention on something off in the distance.
Norman came running out of the house in his underwear with shaving cream on one half of his face, and joined Peter and Roman on the ground. He felt for Roman's pulse and didn't find one, and Roman wasn't breathing.
He looked at Peter and said gently, "He's gone, Peter. Let him go."
Peter laid Roman down on the cold concrete, as Norman asked, "Did you see or hear anything, Peter? Anything helpful for the police?"
Running the back of his hand across his nose, Peter shook his head, trying to be strong and thinking to himself that he'd be checking the grounds for scents later on. He'd catch the son of a bitch who did this to his friend.
Norman laid a hand on Amanda's shoulder and said, "Amanda, why don't you go inside and stay with the baby. We'll take care of everything out here."
Amanda focused her attention back to the situation and nodded. She turned to go into the house.
A large inhalation of breath came from Roman's corpse, and he blinked his eyes in confusion. Raising up on his elbows, he said, "Well, fuck me sideways, that hurt like hell. My shirt is messed up though. I liked that shirt."
Peter grinned from ear to ear, and Norman just stood there with his mouth wide open in shock.
With satisfaction, Michael was watching the scene through his scope when he saw a young, blonde woman appear out of thin air behind Roman's friend. She knelt down beside the two and said something, then stood up and slowly yet methodically began looking around the area. He saw her eyes connect with his through the scope, and it sent chills down his spine.
"What the hell are you?" he asked aloud before his eyes went back to see Norman Godfrey arrive on the scene in his underwear. Shortly after that the young man he'd just shot and killed sat up and began talking to everyone.
"What the... how? Fuckin' Addams family shit!"
He quickly disassembled his sniper rifle, packed up his gear and left.
"I would like someone to tell me how you are walking around on two legs and talking right now when you were clinically dead less than thirty minutes ago," said Norman, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. He stopped and said, "Take off your shirt, Roman."
Roman rolled his eyes, pursed his lips and removed the shirt, tossing it to Norman who caught it deftly. Norman held the shirt up, noting the entry and exit points of the bullet. There was no doubt about it. Roman had been shot and killed.
Norman looked up and noticed not only the lack of a bullet wound but the long, ragged scar across the right side of his chest, ending in a downward motion. "How did that happen?" Then when he also saw Roman's arms. "Jesus, Roman! Have you been cutting?"
"Christ!" exclaimed Roman. "We don't have time for this shit."
Roman walked across the room and caught his uncle's eyes. "I am not crazy. You don't need to give me a psych evaluation. You will listen to what Peter and I tell you with an open mind, and you will not share what you learn with anyone. What we tell you is true. Is that clear?"
Norman nodded.
"Good," said Roman, moving away from Norman. "Now maybe we'll get somewhere." As Roman turned back to Peter, Peter noticed that Roman wasn't bleeding from the nose.
When Roman saw where he was looking, he said, "Yeah, another perk. No more nosebleeds."
"And even bullets can't stop you for long," responded Peter. "I wonder what your Kryponite is now."
"What are you two talking about?" asked Norman.
"Superman, what else," said Roman sarcastically. "No, we were talking about me getting shot, dying, and healing again without leaving any marks on my body. The only marks I have are the scars from cuts I made myself."
"Who would want to see you dead, Roman?" asked Peter. "You can be a fuckin' jerk sometimes but murder?"
Norman asked, "Your father's will. Who stood to gain after you?"
"Well, I believe you were. He didn't leave any stipulations about Shelley, and he didn't want Mother to get her hands on the money after I turned eighteen."
"Well, don't look to me, Roman," said Norman. "I have more money than I know what to do with, especially after selling off my half of the company."
Roman rounded and said, "You did WHAT?"
"I sold my Godfrey Institute shares just a few days ago. Before Letha died."
"Why would you do that? Didn't you think to come to me first? I would have bought you out. Who did you sell to?"
"A company called Lod LLC. You still own the majority of the company though. I thought it was a good move at the time. I've never liked Dr. Pryce. Your mother went with me."
Roman snorted and said, "I'll just bet she did. Tell me, Norman, whose idea was it to sell? Yours or my mother's?"
"Your mother wore me down," replied Norman.
Roman looked at Peter, then said, "She did tend to do that very thing."
Norman said, "I think we need to beef up security around here and hire a body guard or two to ensure this does not happen again. We should probably call Chin as well."
Roman replied, "And tell him what? I was shot through and through and that I came back to life? Right. I'll call Mason and make arrangements for security at the house and at the funeral home. Police will not be involved at this point."
Norman looked at Roman in surprise. He was amazed at how he was taking charge of family affairs and not being the little prick that he could be at times.
"Okay," said Norman. "I'll leave it in your hands. Right now, I'm going to finish shaving and get dressed. If you will excuse me." With his head cocked, he tossed the bloody shirt back at Roman, turned and left the room.
Roman's fangs dropped down, and Peter instinctively moved back in self defense.
Roman said with a fangy smile, "I'm starving."
Upstairs Amanda was nursing Michelle again and rocking her gently in a rocking chair that Roman had found in storage in the carriage house and dusted off for her. She tickled the baby's cheek as Michelle suckled her.
Once again she found herself privy to her employers' conversation. The other baby monitor was still in the kitchen, a two-way, voice-activated model. As she heard Roman say he was hungry, she turned off the monitor and focused on the baby.
Remembering a song from her youth, she began to sing to the baby in her lilting voice as she continued to rock her gently. She continued until she felt a presence at the door. When she looked up, Norman was there watching her with a strange look on his face.
Norman said, "God, you look so much like my daughter that I could almost picture her sitting there with the baby. I'm going to miss out on that."
Amanda lifted her chin in understanding and asked, "Would you like to hold her? She's asleep now."
"Yes, I would." Norman walked over to them and lifted his grandchild in his arms and sat down on the edge of the bed. "She's so tiny and fragile."
"Yes, she is."
"What were you singing to her just now?" asked Norman.
"An old folk song that my mother used to sing to me."
"What language was that?" he asked as he tucked Michelle closer to him.
"Gaelic."
"Gaelic. Lovely language. I'm glad it is kept alive in song and by other means."
She looked thoughtful and replied, "A lot of the old ways are kept alive by being passed down through the generations. Traditions. Song. Customs. Dance. Surely your family has those as well."
Norman admitted. "We do. Sadly, we don't practice them as regularly as we once did."
"Gifts not used are often lost to us in time."
"Indeed they are," agreed Norman. After a long pause, he said, "Roman tells me that you lost your own child recently. If you would like to talk to someone about it, I'm available. I am a psychiatrist, and it would be my pleasure to counsel you should you need to talk. It would be the least I could do since you are taking such good care of my grandchild."
Amanda swallowed. "I appreciate the offer. I will consider it."
In his jeep, Michael pulled out his cell phone, moved through the menu and selected the Bishop's number. When he answered the call, Michael demanded, "What have you gotten me into? I shot the motherfucker, and he came back to life. Plus there was this chick who practically appeared out of nowhere, and I swear she could pinpoint my location where I was positive no human eye could possibly see from that distance. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I'm telling you it skeeved me the fuck out!"
"Come to me, Michael. We'll talk further."
AN:
Credits music would be Trust: Candy Walls.
Cneasaigh is Gaelic for heal.