Chapter 7: In the Blink of an Eye

Alucard

The second time he woke up, he didn't have to worry about being self-conscious. Such a thing was as unfamiliar to him as being alone was to the police girl. As he cracked his sleep crusted eyes open, he inhaled, arching his spine as he stretched the remains of his slumber away.

The morning light was tenfold brighter than it had been earlier. The curtains were splashed with patches of pale lavender, midnight violet and royal blue. He could hear the drone of cars off in the distance melding almost melodically with the laughter and chatter of pedestrians outside. Birds were chirping loudly, and if he was very careful, he could hear the wind as it tossed the leaves of the springtime trees every which way.

The police girl lay on the opposite side of the sofa. She was on her side, her head resting on her neatly placed arms that she'd tucked under her head of golden hair. Her lips were parted as she drew her breaths, her chest rising and falling like the swell of the tide.

Feeling satisfied that the girl would not wake up, he gingerly got to his feet.

Crap, he thought as he heard his own stomach rumble with the intensity of an oncoming storm, I have nothing in the fridge but Chinese leftovers.

He padded over the plush carpets to the set of dark, wooden set of drawers to the left of the French doors. He pulled open the first of the six drawers, one on the top left corner, and grabbed a set of keys. He picked up his personalized gun, the silver weapon that had left the police girl shell shocked for a short time yesterday. He tucked the keys into the pocket of his dark jeans, and the gun into his waistband, concealing the weapon beneath the coal black fabric of his shirt.

Better head out before the traffic gets too bad, he thought idly as he approached the front door. Thin, wooden and painted a disgusting shade of green, he wondered why no thieves had taken it upon themselves to attempt a robbery on his place. The door didn't exactly pose as the best of barriers from intruders.

It's not like I've got anything really valuable in here anyway, he thought as he slipped on a pair of simple shoes.

As he blinked, an image of the police girl flashed behind his eyelids, reminding himself that he did in fact have something quite valuable in his home after all. He coughed, tossing aside all the useless feelings and emotions that were vying for his rapidly declining attention.

He grabbed the wobbly old doorknob with its rusted screws and peeling, gold paint, and threw open the door.

The warm breath of the spring morning blew into his face in a harsh gust that sent his black hair flying wildly about his face. The air smelled sweet with dew and nectar, but sour with the scent of humanity.

I hope this doesn't take too long, he thought as he gently pulled the door shut.

The sound of a door slamming shut brought me out of the dreamland in my head.

My head felt heavy and distant, as if I'd been wearing a thick helmet for a prolonged period of time. I felt muddled and lost, my mind swimming in heat.

It was warm in the room, but not in a muggy or uncomfortable way. It was unusually cozy and soft and made me want to fall back asleep. I yawned, propping myself up on one arm as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with my free hand.

I suppose the first thing I really noticed was the lack of Alucard's presence. I remembered falling asleep beside him, but I recalled nothing after that. I exhaled deeply, fighting off the lingering grasp of fatigue that tugged gently against my wavering state of consciousness.

I sat upright, leaning my back against the soft sofa. The air smelled musky with stale cologne. I could see miniscule beads of dust suspended in the beams of bright sunlight that streamed in through the gaps in the curtains.

A moment of still silence passed, and I began to feel myself retreat within my mind. I was alone again. I wondered if Alucard had left the home altogether, or was simply in another area of the house. I sat for a minute, listening for signs of life inside of the home. After hearing nothing, I realized that Alucard had most likely gone out. Where and why was beyond me.

I carefully forced myself to my feet, my face wearing a muted expression of concern.

I didn't know what exactly I was feeling. I was all by myself, that alone being quite the unfamiliar feeling. I felt rested, which was something I hadn't experienced in weeks, or so it felt. I was groggy, but wide awake, and as per my stomach's demand, I was very hungry.

Steering my body towards the French doors, I noticed that something had changed. There was a set of wooden drawers placed just to the left of the doors, one of which was cracked open just a bit. I approached it tiredly, my eyes drooping against my direction.

The first drawer on the left had been opened and not fully shut. I grabbed the small, metal handle and pulled it open, my actions slow and delayed with restful lethargy.

The drawer was mostly devoid of objects. There were a few envelops housing what looked like old invoices and receipts, as well as a few old, used rounds from a handgun. Seeing nothing particularly interesting, I shut the drawer all the way, and exited the room.

It was dim in the hallway. The lights were off, but enough of the sun came through the small, dusty window at the top of the old, decaying front door. The flaxen beams were cut and cracked, the refracted fragments bouncing off of all the walls and decor in the hallway. I stood still for a moment, lost in thought, staring at the light. A car horn honked loudly just outside the house as it drove past, knocking me back into action. I continued onwards, into the kitchen.

It was empty in the kitchen, as was expected. The polished, wooden table top shone with the gleam of the morning light, glowing almost golden in hue. The jars along the counter reflected the sparkling rays, fully illuminating the room without the need for artificial light.

Staring into the quaint room, I forgot completely about my growing hunger. I stood next to the table, my fingertips tracing over the varnished wooden patterns.

It felt as if Alucard had never been in the kitchen before. The room itself spoke of a soft spoken, bashful demeanor, one that was quite different from Alucard. It indicated that a whole other type of person inhabited this little abode. I felt myself dropping into one of the wooden chairs, the same one I'd sat in the night before as I began to ponder over Alucard.

I realized I could be wrong. I realized that I knew next to nothing about him. He was indeed quiet, but as I recalled my first conversation with him in the hospital only a few days ago, I remembered that he could be much more outspoken if he so desired.

I knew he was reserved and didn't like company. He carried himself like he was used to being alone, and enjoyed being that way. He was confident, but a part of me doubted that notion, dubbing the confidence a front for hiding away what he didn't want to think about. He could be tormented by ghosts from his past, but what would I know about that? He didn't have a single photograph of another person in his place, no belongings that looked like they meant something personal to him.

Maybe he was fickle, a wanderer. Maybe he did have people in his life, but none who he'd genuinely gotten close with. Maybe he spoke to his colleagues, or was on neutral terms with those at his workplace, but I doubted that they knew any more about him than I did.

Maybe I was wrong about that as well. Maybe he did have friends; maybe he did care about other people. Maybe he just wasn't sentimental, preferring to live in the present and let his past go.

Or maybe he was truly as alone as he seemed. His home, though filled with furniture, didn't boast the fact that Alucard had company often, or had company at all. Maybe he'd distanced himself to deal with his own unrest. Maybe he did better with dealing with his own issues on his own. Maybe he preferred to sort through his problems on his own, instead of being forced to come another person.

Perhaps he'd tried something like that in the past. Maybe he did have someone he cared about and had tried to talk to them, but it hadn't worked. Maybe his simply thought he was alone, but in reality was surrounded by people who cared about him. He could believe that he was distancing those people for the sake of their own protection. Maybe he believed that he and his problems were a burden to others, and had removed himself from the situation.

Maybe he'd been in a spoiled friendship, or had suffered from a relationship gone sour. Maybe he'd lost someone who he felt was irreplaceable. What if he was afraid of becoming attached to anything from fear of losing something he cared for?

There was all manner of things that could have happened, but the one that seemed most likely to me was that Alucard was simply a solitary figure. He merely preferred to work alone, to handle himself on his own, and only do what was necessary. He didn't seem like a person who did things that had no meaning. He seemed very aware of his actions and the impacts they could have, the risks they might come with.

I wondered if he felt fear, or longing, or confusion. He always appeared as if he knew exactly what he was doing, like he was an actor following cues instead of a man living his life. He was sure footed and unwavering, but despite all that, he was human.

I wondered how he handled all the different things he felt. I wondered if he paid his own emotions any regard. I wondered if maybe he hadn't always been the way he was now, if there was a time where he was more alive, more animated as opposed to the still silhouette that I'd been introduced to.

I wondered above all else what his opinion of me was.

He'd been at my bedside in the hospital, but he was required to stay there since he'd brought me in. My father was dead because he'd been attempting to lay an Iscariot member to rest, but he hadn't been indifferent to that. He was aware of the pain he'd caused me, so it is only natural to assume he felt guilt for his actions. He wouldn't have apologized if he didn't mean it. If he hadn't felt anything, he wouldn't have approached me; he wouldn't have done anything after he'd made his mistake. To act upon something that meant nothing to him would have been unnecessary. He wouldn't have wasted time with something that was unimportant to him.

Were all of his actions up until now guilt driven? Had he only been running into me because he felt bad about what he'd done? That didn't explain what he was doing at the police station when I discovered what had happened to Jack and the rest of my squad.

The sleep-tightened muscles in my face relaxed as I recalled a very important detail about the deaths of my best friend and workforce.

It was the Iscariot, that's all we know.

I remember the head officer repeating that as my mind slowly spiraled into oblivion that day. It was the only explanation as to why Alucard had been there. He worked for Hellsing, and Hellsing worked to put an end to gang violence in the area. He must have been sent to go examine the newest bodies for evidence to lead Hellsing closer to finding their target, and had encountered me having a breakdown instead.

I felt a prickling warmth seep into my cheeks, my palms going sweaty against the tops of my jean-clad thighs.

He'd caught me when I fell, in a quite literal sense. He'd comforted me, and had given me my first opportunity to really move on. Those actions didn't seem to be spurred by guilt. They seemed natural and instinctual. Was he simply reacting to what he was seeing? But, if that was the case, what would cause him to invite me to join Hellsing?

Maybe he'd been told to bring back any survivors for questioning. But, he hadn't spoken of Jack or my team since that day. What if he knew that I couldn't stand to be alone and would have needed to go with him, to go with someone in order to be myself again? Why would that even be of any importance or concern to him?

What if he was tired of being alone? What if he only asked so that he could attempt to connect with another human being? I shook my head, resting my elbows on the table in front of me, pressing my face into my palms.

I didn't understand what he felt, not in the slightest regard. I now had more questions about him, his motives, everything, than I did initially. Not to mention that I myself had no idea what exactly I felt about him.

I propped my face up, leaning my cheek into my right palm, my eyes staring blankly out into the kitchen.

What do I feel about Alucard?

The thought floated around my mind like an old Windows screensaver.

There was no point in lying to myself. He was a fairly attractive man. He was good looking and I couldn't deny the fact forever. I rubbed one of my socked feet over the other, my face growing warmer by the second.

Besides that, I wasn't attracted to him in any other way. At least, it didn't feel like I did. I couldn't come up for a rational reason for feeling like this, but, I realized that I did, in a way, enjoy his company. I didn't mind being around him.

Maybe it was a part of me missing my father. My mind might have substituted the next closest man it found to fill his place. He was stern, more so than my dad, but his actions were reasonable and not impulsive. The latter reminded me of my father more than the former.

My father was the 'comfort by being there, not by reciting a speech' type. When I'd lost my first pet, gotten into a fight with Jack in middle school, and even when I'd lost my mother, my dad didn't say very much to try and make me feel better. He simply stood by me, giving my hand a squeeze if I began to shake, or a hug if I couldn't hold it together anymore.

Alucard reminded me of him. Maybe that's why I wasn't trying to run out of his place. Maybe that's why I'm willing to try and move on.

Maybe, with Alucard, I can gain back what I've lost.

I yawned, deep and swell, my eyes tearing up at the corners. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall across from me, I groaned.

8:51 a.m. read the clock.

I folded my arms into a pile in front of me and placed my head where they connected, tucking my face into my sleeves.

My stomach took that precise moment to moan audibly, the sound seeming to echo around the kitchen.

I silently willed for Alucard to return from wherever he'd disappeared to with a bagel and a steaming cup of tea.

Alucard

I hate grocery stores, he thought as he shivered near violently for the umpteenth time. They're too damn cold.

He was standing in front of the eggs and dairy section of the nearest grocery store in downtown Toronto. It was uncharacteristically humid for a Toronto spring outside, yet it felt like the dead of winter inside the store. He regretted not grabbing his jacket before he left.

He grabbed a carton of eggs and tucked it into the corner of the plastic grocery basket he had hooked onto his arm. The hard, angular handle dug irritatingly into the crook of his elbow. He contemplated dropping the thing onto the floor and heading straight for the nearest fast food place, but forced himself to remain as he was. The police girl was too thin to eat fast food regularly. She'd probably have a heart attack just at the sight of a burger.

When did I start giving a fuck about what she wants? he heard himself scold.

He scoffed and tried to brush off the next thought that followed, but by that time, it was already too late.

What is it that she wants?

He wasn't referring to her meals. He was pretty certain that eggs and bacon was a universally accepted breakfast choice by skinny blond girls and dark, burly men alike. He was referring to her.

Why hadn't she put up a fight back at the police station the other day? She came with him so willingly it was almost comical. Almost. If he'd been a creep, he would've been able to get away with consensual kidnapping. He scowled with his eyebrows for allowing himself to joke over something like that.

He turned away from the eggs and began to head over to the bakery aisle.

She didn't like him. She couldn't. What human being would be stupid enough to willingly hang out with the person who killed their father?

But it wasn't my fault, he heard himself reason.

Like hell it wasn't his fault. He pulled the trigger, he'd killed a man, and now she's sitting back at his place. Why she was still there was a mystery to him. Why she allowed herself to fall asleep on him was an even bigger one. The fingers of his free hand curled tactfully into a fist in response to the jarring clench he felt in his gut the moment he remembered waking up this morning.

She doesn't blame me anymore, he thought, the words in his mind forming almost tentatively, as if thinking them might make them untrue.

Why didn't she blame him? His eyes bored holes into the loaves of bread in front of him, unsatisfied with every piece he saw.

Because I didn't want her to, he recalled, I wanted her to move on. She can help me get Anderson.

He fought the urge to groan out loud in front of his entire whole grain audience. He knew that wasn't the only reason he'd wanted her to move on.

How can I forget what I did if she's constantly reminding me of it?

Either way, he knew his actions were selfish. He didn't really care all that much about her, only the effect that she had on him. He needed to be okay. He needed to be the same man he was a month ago in order to put an end to the Iscariot. He couldn't do that if all he did was silently sulk over his mistakes.

In the past, forgetting hadn't been much of an issue. Integra would nag him for a couple of days, but it would pass, and he'd proceed with the next project. This was different.

The mistake was a breathing, living person. Every time he looked at her, he was taken back to the night he screwed up worse than he had ever before. He wasn't able to forget, but he hoped that if she herself was able to get over what had happened, then he would be able to as well.

What is it I want from her?

The thought slapped him in the face harder than the wind had when he'd left home this morning. It came out of nowhere, or so it seemed. He knew he'd been thinking about that question, but would never admit it, not even to himself.

He wanted her safe, that much he knew. He felt for her what he felt for Integra: the urge to defend, to protect.

Why? he heard himself ask.

He spun away from the rack of prebaked loaves in front of him and turned to face the freshly baked area of the bakery.

He owed her security after he'd stripped everything she had away from her. Maybe he hadn't killed her entire team and that boy, but none of them would've been a target if he hadn't been there in the first place.

"I'm just doing my job!"

The echo of her voice invaded his mind. His grip on the basket loosened just a hairsbreadth. He'd already had this conversation with the police girl, with his boss, and with himself. He didn't need to mull over his actions anymore.

"And I'm just doing mine," his own voice responded, playing over the conversation again and again, until another thought interrupted.

What does she mean to me?

"For fuck's sake," he muttered. His voice was so low that he wasn't even sure if he'd said the statement out loud or in his mind.

He didn't know what she meant. She meant… She meant that he wouldn't fully be able to move on from the recent past, but, he'd be able to finally have the success he'd been looking for. She meant change was happening, that he was changing, but changing how, and into who, he didn't know. He didn't know if he was okay with it, or whether or not it was the right choice, but he wouldn't know unless he experienced the effects of his decision first hand, and to do that, he needed time.

After appearing to stare at the shelf in front of him blankly for too long for it to be considered scrutinizing, he settled on a fresh, white baguette, and headed straight for the cashier.

As he waited in the startlingly long express line, he felt another chill work its way down his spine. It wasn't due to the cold of the grocery store, or the uncomfortable feeling he always felt while being near too many people at once, it was duller, yet stabbing, like he'd just come to realize something he'd known all along.

I'm glad that I met her.

His eyes widened visibly for just a second, the movement so quick that nobody would've noticed, even if they'd been staring him down. He shoved his free hand into his pocket, the flesh of his fingers biting into the teeth of his car keys.

I hate grocery stores, he thought, as he finally got called to register number six.

Scratch, scratch, pause, scratch, pause, tap.

I felt my eyelids trying to force themselves apart. My eyes met with the clock on the other side of the room: 9:26 a.m. It was time for me to get up.

Tap, pause, tap, pause, tap.

I wasn't sure what I was hearing, but it was odd. It was a sound that was out of the ordinary, one I hadn't been hearing at all before I dozed off, or during my nap. This was a new sound. It wasn't the noise that came with someone knocking at a door or window, or the sounds of construction that frequent the residential areas of downtown Toronto.

Scratch, scratch, pause, scratch, pause, tap.

I rose from my seat sleepily. The sound was getting a bit annoying, but not enough to cause me to rush and see what it was. Maybe a window had gotten blown open and the blinds were tapping against the window frame. Or maybe there was a poor, confused bird trying to get inside.

I exited kitchen lazily, my limbs stiff with sleep. I trudged into the hallway, listening intently for the sounds.

Scratch, scratch, pause, scratch, pause, tap.

It was coming from somewhere to my right. I turned and was greeted by the sight of the living room. It looked just as it did when I'd left earlier. The curtains were drawn, the windows beyond them shut, and everything else lay untouched and undisturbed.

Seeing as I didn't want to sit in the kitchen any longer, I decided that I might as well watch T.V. while I waited for Alucard to come back from wherever he'd gone.

I entered the room, shutting the door behind me. I made my way to the sofa and dropped down heavily into the plush material. It sunk beneath my weight as if I'd fallen into a waterbed instead of a retro couch. I felt myself smiling childishly as the squishy consistency of the sofa's stuffing as I reached for the remote.

Tap, pause, tap, pause, tap.

I might not have been earlier, but now I was getting annoyed. I stood up abruptly, swaying a little on my heels as I momentarily lost my balance.

Scratch, scratch, pause, scratch, pause, tap.

I turned to the right, towards the nearest of the shrouded windows. I felt like the stupid girl in a horror movie who died first from obvious wrong moves. I knew not to investigate things like this unarmed, but curiosity was my downfall, or so my father always said. Maybe he'd said that trust was my downfall, but I shoved the thoughts aside, determining them irrelevant.

Tap, pause, tap, pause.

I stood, my brows drawn together as I noticed an irregularity with the pattern that had been going on for minutes now.

I waited a good five minutes, but the sounds didn't return. Sweat was nearly dripping down my neck and over my fingertips. I wasn't warm at all. I was shivering anxiously, afraid of something unknown to me.

I extended an arm, reaching for the curtain. I took hold of the silken fabric in my slicked palm, and pulled it aside.

I fought to keep myself from screaming.

My eyes grew wide, my blood freezing instantly like a rose dipped into liquid nitrogen. I began to shake. Fear, horror, and repulsion gnawed at my mind, threatening to knock me unconscious and take me away from where I was.

Carved into the glass in thin, jagged strokes were the words: 12 DOWN, 1 TO GO. That wasn't the worst part.

The words were written normally from left to right, meaning that whoever had carved them had done it from the inside.

I wasn't alone anymore. I never had been.

My eyes were glued to the glass, trying to decipher their meaning. Twelve down… An image of my father's smiling face flashed like a vibrant bolt of lightning in front of my intense gaze.

My squad. There were thirteen of us total, including my father and I.

I was the only survivor.

My vision blurred momentarily as a wave of sickening dizziness crawled under my skin, making every hair on my body stand straight up. I blinked rapidly, my limbs unable to move. My eyes refocused on the glass, staring at my terror stricken reflection instead of the chilling words suspended in front of me. Choosing to do so was a mistake.

Reflected in the glass was not only me, but the semi-transparent image of a man in a long, white coat with blond, spiky hair standing on the opposite side of the room. He wore a maniacal grin and a cream colored business suit beneath the jacket. I recognized him immediately.

He was the man who'd originally threatened my father, the Iscariot member who'd been Alucard's target. Like the last time I'd seen him, he was armed, only this time, it wasn't a knife. This time, it was a gun, silver like Alucard's.

This time, the weapon was pointed at me.

Author's Note: DUN DUN DUUUUUUNNNNNN! I warned you that things weren't going to all happy-happy fun times forever! Anyway, sorry about taking eons with the update! I just got started on the next chapter, and I wanted to have some of it done before uploading this. But yeah! School's a mess, so these updates might take a little longer than usual, but they'll be there! Please, leave a review if you wish to yell at me for destroying the happiness (this is horror fic lulz) or just to talk to me! I love hearing from you guys :'D Reviews make me want to write more (and study less... I'm joking. School is important) so yeah! I hope to hear from all of you, and thanks for reading!

-Shan