"I was wondering how you knew that my mom was going to rent this place," Georgie murmured close to Damian's ear. They were lying on the bed- the sheet was bundled and forgotten on the floor along with various articles of clothing, most of them black. There were two cups of green tea close by on a chair and a ceramic plate that held half of one last thin slice of apple. Georgie popped the other half into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Damian moved his head away slightly and reflexively scratched his ear with the hand that wasn't trapped under Georgie's body.

"Am I chewing in your ear?" she asked with a giggle. "Maybe I should be doing this instead?" She leaned closer and lightly raked her teeth across his earlobe making him laugh. "Seriously, this would be so much better with some chocolate sauce- the apple, not your ear. That might be an idea though-"

"I don't eat stuff like that," Damian cut her off, grinning. He had already learned that sometimes he just had to interrupt her if he wanted to get a word in.

"What, fun stuff? Stuff that's yummy?" She traced the edge of his ear with a mischievous fingertip for emphasis as she spoke.

"Cut it out," Damian pleaded, laughing again. "No junk food. Nothing processed. I'm not allowed."

"Not allowed?" Georgie scoffed. "I don't see anyone else here keeping tabs on what you're doing. Which is good since you only need one stalker," she added with a wicked smile.

"It's part of the Mission," he stated, and his tone changed- it carried an undercurrent of urgency. "I have to be in a certain physical condition. I have to be ready."

Georgie leaned back and propped her head on her hand as if to get a good look at Damian. "Mission? Are you Jehovah's Witness or something?" She grinned wickedly. "Or maybe you're in a cult. Do you believe a comet is coming that's going to take you to Disney World? Did I just sleep with an escaped mental patient? Tell me if I did, because I'd just have to introduce you to my father. It might be fun to watch the rest of his hair turn gray!"

Damian's good humor had vanished. He turned his head away from her and stared at the symbols painted on the wall. "It's not like that. It's hard to explain. Besides, I didn't escape... I was released."

Georgie's eyes narrowed as she watched him. "Did you just make a joke? I like a guy with a good sense of humor," she said and cuddled closer to him. She reached over and took his chin in her hand and pulled lightly, turning his head back to face her. She kissed his neck and trailed her lips up to his chin, seeking his mouth. Her warm breath blazed a trail as she progressed, raising goosebumps on his pale skin. Her hand slipped up into his hair, her searching fingers entangled in his tousled brown locks. "But don't worry," she continued breathlessly, "I like you too."

The strong arm under her body tensed, and he lifted her on top of him. Her hair cascaded down over his face as their kisses deepened and attained an escalating rhythmic tension. They forgot about conversation for a while.

"As I was saying," Georgie spoke as she caught her breath, "I remember my mom saying that she was surprised the add for this place had made it into the newspaper so fast. She didn't think anything of it, but I checked. The day you came over and she showed you the loft- the add wasn't running yet. So how did you know?"

Damian sighed and gestured toward the cups of tea. Georgie reached over and grabbed one for him. He gratefully took it from her and took a long drink. He balanced the glass on his bare chest. "I was told to come here," he said cryptically.

Georgie lay back on the bed and resisted the urge to pinch him. "You know traditionally an answer to a question contains at least some tiny bit of actual useful information."

Damian sighed. "I don't know how to explain it in a way that will make sense to you." He ran one finger around the rim of the glass on his chest. "You'll just be more convinced that I'm a crazy person."

"What, did a dog tell you?" Georgie inquired with a giggle. "Look you knew something you shouldn't have known, but you were right about it. Maybe you're crazy, but you are also accurate!"

Damian didn't laugh. He looked worried by her statement.

"Okay, I guess I'll have to show you that you aren't the only one who can sound crazy while trying to explain something," Georgie continued in a light tone. "Have you ever gotten the feeling that something was just supposed to happen? I'm lying here with you, and we just met- but somehow I don't believe that. I don't feel awkward with you at all. It's like I already knew you from somewhere. Someplace that I can't quite recall."

Damian stiffened as she spoke. He stared at the ceiling as Georgie's soft voice carried on, her breath caressing his neck with every utterance. "For some reason I trust you. I know that I can tell you my secrets, my most 'out there' thoughts, and I'll be safe. You can do the same you know?" She ducked her head and smiled against his shoulder. "When you touched me, it was like I suddenly realized that a part of me has been sad for a long time- so long that I got used to it, and didn't even realize it anymore. But suddenly it was gone, and I recognized it by it's absence." She laughed quietly. "I'm experiencing a profound absence of sadness."

Damian shifted, and his hand found hers. "You're right," he said softly, "you do sound crazy."

Georgie burst into laughter and for several seconds she tried to tickle Damian, who deftly blocked her attempts while simultaneously protecting his cup of tea from a spill. Finally they settled back down. Georgie rolled free of him and sat up, shifting her legs over the side of the bed. Damian admired the sensuous curve of her back as she tossed her hair. Georgie retrieved a sheet from the floor and wrapped it around her bare frame.

"You don't have to say anything, but I've seen it in your eyes. Recognition. We had a connection from the first moment we saw each other."

Damian swallowed the last of the tea and set his cup aside. "Like rediscovering a long lost friend," He agreed.

Georgie glanced over her shoulder at him and arched an eyebrow. "If that's what you want to call it. You know, just because we slept together, I don't expect anything from you. We both wanted this tonight, but that doesn't mean you have to feel the same way tomorrow. I would like us to be friends no matter what."

Damian wasn't sure how to respond, so he decided to try to change the subject. "You said this used to be your room?"

Georgie looked away from him. "Yes. My mom brought my grandmother to live with us for a while a few years ago. She took me and my sister's old room in the house, and I jumped at the chance to have my own private space. Later my grandmother left, and my sister decided to go live with our dad, so now there's plenty of room in the house for just me and my mom." Georgie walked over to the nearest wall and placed a hand sporting black polished fingernails on one of the symbols. "Do you like my mural?"

Damian sat up and examined the wall paintings again. "You did all of this?"

"Yes," she acknowledged quietly.

"It's amazing," Damian told her, "but I'm not sure that 'like' is the right word."

Georgie sighed. "You're honest. That's good. I did this whole room while I was high... a long time ago. I don't even remember painting most of this." She looked back at Damian. "Does that bother you?"

Damian was silent, and his eyes were hooded.

"This," she continued with a sweeping gesture toward the pyramid that dominated the biggest wall, "is my rendition of Teotihuacan - the feathered serpent pyramid of the Aztecs. They believed that the sun was in a constant battle to cross the sky, and that every fifty two years this war would reach a critical point that could bring down a cataclysm to end the world. They used Teotihuacan to give blood back to the sun god and to placate the god of death."

"How did they manage that?" Damian asked as he took in the sight of artist and work together.

"Sacrifice..." she intoned, and her voice held a dream-like quality, "...human sacrifice, actually."

Damian slid off the bed and pulled his pants on. He reached down and retrieved the butcher knife from the floor.

"Young people mostly. Some experts think they killed them in the thousands. I wonder what it would feel like as you were taken to be sacrificed? If you would feel honored to die to help save something, or if the fear and dread would overwhelm you as each step up the pyramid brought you closer to your own murder. Can you imagine?"

Damian stepped into the kitchen and placed the knife in the sink. He turned the water on and let the flow fill his hands before splashing the water on his face. The cool liquid ran in rivulets down his neck and chest. "No. And the symbols?"

Georgie turned and looked at him. The sheet shrouded her body. "References to death and the underworld from different cultures and religions." She took a few swaying steps, hindered a bit by the trailing sheet, and reached out to touch the depiction of five figures on an adjacent wall. "These guys, for instance. This is Anubis and his four minions. They are part man, part jackal. The ancient Egyptians believed that Anubis guarded the land of the dead- that he judged the departed souls and decided where they should be placed in the afterlife." She traced one slim finger along the profile of the largest figure. It had the body of a man and the head of a black dog. "If a soul resisted it's placement, if it managed to slip out of the underworld, these four would be sent out to track it down and return it... or if that failed they would simply devour it."

Damian stepped out of the kitchen and stopped a few feet from his companion. The remaining drops of water began to dry on his upper body, making a cool, uneven sensation across his skin. He felt a small shiver, and his shoulders tensed slightly. "Five and two," he said.

Georgie tilted her head a bit. "What?"

"The symbols," Damian continued with a nod of his head toward the ceiling and walls. "There's a pattern. They are all in groups of five and two."

Georgie's eyes widened as she directed her gaze around the painted area. She pulled the sheet tighter across her shoulders. "They are!" she confirmed in surprise. "How could I have never noticed? I was really out of it when I did most of this. It was almost like something else was directing my body." She took a breath to continue speaking but paused, as if considering whether or not to go on. She glanced at Damian and seemed to gain some kind of reassurance and resolve. "I don't do it anymore, but at the time I was injecting meth. It was a terrible mistake. It was kind of a low point, and I just wanted to get away, to get out of myself and feel something good."

"Injecting methamphetamine is very risky behavior. You could have killed yourself." Damian's tone was neutral, his face impassive.

"I know. That was part of the attraction. Imagine that you experience close to an ultimate euphoria, but when it's over your normal existence seems dull and painful by comparison. You know that you can get that feeling back anytime that you want by taking the drug over and over again. But doing that makes you an addict, and you give away control of your life."

Damian crossed the small room and stood in front of Georgie, listening. "To kick the addiction, you have to face and accept the fact that the best moment of your life is over, and you'll never get it back again. For me, it was like injecting meth was a whole new level. It was the greatest rush, the best feeling I've ever had. But I knew that it was a bad thing that I was doing to myself and my family, and that it wasn't even me that felt that good- it was all the drug. When I was straight I hated myself for wanting more, but I did... all the time. Sometimes, when I was really flying, really out there, I could sense that I was coming close to a wall- a barrier. And maybe beyond this wall was the ultimate high- one that would last. Part of me wanted to go through and embrace it."

Damian's gaze swept across the room, the sepulcher, the tribute to mortality, and back to it's creator. "Is that why?" he asked. "Why you are so in love with death?"

Georgie didn't answer immediately. She wandered back over to the bed and sat down. The sheet pooled around her. "There was a friend... a guy... a dealer... I thought he loved me, and maybe I thought I loved him. I don't know. He's the one that got me into drugs. He was the guy that always had stuff. Everyone knew that if they wanted something, they could go to him and he would always come through with the hook up. Anyway, he liked to get me so wasted that sometimes I wouldn't remember the things we did together. And I let him most of the time. One night he had a party, and I got high in his bedroom with him and one of his friends." She huddled under the sheet and rubbed her arms as if she had caught a chill. "They started to do things to me... it was all wrong. I told them no, but they didn't listen. I was so wasted that I couldn't do anything, and I didn't even feel in control of my own body. I begged him to stop, to make his friend stop, but it was like he couldn't hear me."

Damian stood very still as he listened to her quiet monologue, but his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Georgie stared at nothing as she continued, and her body shuddered as if recalling the hideous touch of a nightmare. "They... recorded the whole thing. On his computer. When they were finished, his friend left, and he passed out eventually. All I wanted to do was to go to sleep, to forget everything, and wake up and have it all be a dream. But the drugs wouldn't let me sleep. That night dragged on forever. I finally stole some of his stash and left. I left him. After that night he asked me to come back, told me how sorry he was, that it was the drugs, but I couldn't look at him anymore."

Georgie looked away and rubbed her face quickly with one edge of the sheet. "I got high a few more times- enough to paint this room, and then I quit. It wasn't easy. For months I kept a needle. When the craving got too bad, I would stick myself, just to get that feeling for a second. It seemed like it relieved some of the tension."

Damian exhaled slowly, and realized that he had been holding his breath. Although outwardly calm, a cold fury had been building up inside of him- racing like fire through his veins; the flames licking at his racing heart. He concentrated on calming himself. "I'm sorry you went through all of that."

Georgie shook her head. "I did it to myself."

"You made yourself vulnerable, but you didn't do those things to yourself that night- they did. Who was he, this friend?"

Georgie hunched under the sheet and stared at the floor. "It doesn't matter."

Damian approached her and knelt on the floor looking up at her face. "You said we could tell each other our secrets."

Georgie shook her head. "Some secrets aren't just mine to tell. There were things about him that I cared about, before the bad stuff got involved. He wasn't a monster, but he let a monster in. It's over," she said and she met Damian's gaze with her own. "I don't want to see anything bad happen to him."

"You won't tell me who he is, so it must be someone I know, someone I've met here."

For once Georgie was silent.

"What about this recording?"

She shrugged. "As far as I know he still has it."

"Aren't you afraid that he'll do something with it- put it on the internet or something?"

She shook her head emphatically, but Damian noticed that she bit her lower lip at the thought.

"I don't think he will do anything like that. He seemed really ashamed after... and even if he does- so what? It is what it is." The last part of this statement struck Damian as a bit off, as if she was quoting a favorite statement from someone else- one that she didn't actually want to believe.

Georgie reached out and gently cupped Damian's chin in her soft, yielding hand. "I can fight my own battles. I'm not going to tell you who he is." Her brown eyes held an aching sadness now as they searched his face. "To people who judge things by the outside, who see only what they expect to see, you look harmless. But you aren't... are you?"

Damian met her gaze without flinching, but he volunteered nothing.

"I watched you nearly choke the life out of someone today. You were so focused that no one could stop you. You stopped yourself, but you didn't want to. You wanted to kill him, didn't you?"

Damian just looked at her, let her read the answer in his face.

"Damian... whatever your mission is, whatever demands you let it place on you... please... don't let a monster in."

She pulled him close and the sheer fabric slipped from her shoulders. They embraced tenderly. Damian rested his cheek against her hair and stared blankly at the grouped symbols on the wall with eyes that were haunted now.

He leaned back and pulled the sheet back into place over her nude body. "Are you staying?" he asked.

"For a while if you want me to. I'm an adult, and I can do what I want, but I don't want to make my mother worry. You must be tired, why don't you lie down for a bit?"

They both made themselves comfortable on the rough mattress of the pull-out bed. Georgie settled her head on Damian's chest and in the crook of his shoulder. She trailed her black nailed fingers down his chest and stomach, stopping to make light circles around the randomly spaced dark smudges on his skin left by her ebony lipstick. The lightest kisses had left marks that looked like bruises, the deepest like bullet holes. "It must be getting late," she said with a sigh.

"Later than you know." Damian didn't say the words out loud.