Ch 5 (Don't) Fear The Reaper

"Mortis non timemus, timemus mori."

"Altitudinis non timemus, casum timemus."

"Tenebras non timemus, quid in eis sit timemus."

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of neatly shelved DVDs and VHS tapes that lined the walls. Faded movie posters from last year's blockbusters adorned the chipped, off-white walls, trying to inject some life into the otherwise lifeless space. The air smelled faintly of stale popcorn and plastic, a scent that clung to his uniform and lingered long after his shift ended. The carpet, once a vibrant blue, had been dulled by years of foot traffic, its surface now a patchwork of stains and wear.

Behind the counter, the cash register sat next to a cluttered array of promotional materials, candy bars, and a dusty gumball machine that hadn't been used in months. A small TV mounted in the corner played the same loop of trailers and advertisements, the monotonous chatter blending into the background noise. Shelves of new releases were prominently displayed near the entrance, their colorful cases promising an escape that felt just out of reach.

Beau slumped against the counter, his eyes unfocused as his thoughts drifted far from the video store's drab confines. He'd been late for the first time today, a whole five minutes, thanks to a sleepless night spent poorly playing melancholy melodies on his keyboard. As he stood there, he couldn't help but feel the weight of his own dissatisfaction pressing down on him, a nagging reminder of his desire to escape the monotony of his life.

Work was slow, as it almost always was. Leaving only him and Mckayla inside the small video store. Her blonde hair was done in a tight bun that hung above her head, giving her a cool, mature look.

The silence between Beau and Mckayla was palpable, each avoiding the other's gaze as they endured the oppressive quiet of the store. Their strained non-communication was interrupted only by the loud, animated conversation of their sole customers, whose voices cut through the bleak ambiance like a knife.

"I'm telling you, the biggest goddamn bear I've ever seen. It looked like a bear that eats other bears. I ran screaming like a stuck pig."

"I don't care, don't go into the woods then. It's not like the super bear or whatever came to your house and attacked you."

"It ate two people, whole, haven't even found the bodies yet, and you're saying they deserved it?"

"Nobody deserves to get eaten by a bear, obviously. All I'm saying is my strategy for avoiding bear attacks has a perfect success rate. Works for most dangerous animals."

The pair left, not purchasing anything and continuing their argument as they went outside.

Bear attacks—Charlie's warnings about the forest suddenly made chilling sense. In his injured state, he'd be easy prey. He recalled a documentary he'd watched with Charlie about bears, though the details were hazy. What stuck with him was the sheer brutality of their feeding habits, tearing into their prey while it was still alive. The thought sent a chill racing down his spine, mingling with the growing sense of unease about the mysterious disappearances.

It made him wonder, was it really a bear? He had no reason to believe it wasn't. Yet he was skeptical to believe it was the antics of a regular bear. Bears didn't eat people, not really, and especially not without leaving a trace. If it had been a bear, all that'd be left was a bloody mess that had once been the two unlucky hikers.

His mind flashed back to the reservation months ago, where he'd seen something that looked like a massive wolf. ' Wolves do attack people, ' he thought, ' though it's rare. But not as rare as a bear... '

A wolf with the eyes of a human. It looked about the size of a bear, though he couldn't see much of it in the dark. Did werewolves eat people? He glanced around the empty store, half-expecting someone to laugh at him for even considering the idea. But this was his reality now, where the line between the natural and supernatural blurred.

The only vampires in the area had left, so that ruled them out. It made sense to him; they had to eat something. For him, it confirmed that Jules knew nothing of what some of the others were. She'd never willingly go along with something like that.

His suspicions extended to everyone outside the black family he'd seen on the reservation. The two girls, Emma and Quil, either of them could be.

Or Lee, it'd be fitting if he was. Of course, he'd be the one to pick a fight with the most dangerous thing for miles around.

There was no way to be sure. The only one he felt certain about was Samantha. With no proof, it didn't matter what he thought.

If he told anyone, they'd call him insane. Rightfully so. He was.

Until the wolves found out who'd been spreading rumors about them, he assumed they had a lot in common with vampires, besides hunting humans, obviously. No one who tried revealing their secret to the wider world lived long afterwards.

Why had he been spared then? A favor to Charlie? Or maybe what made him smell so delicious to vampires had the reverse effect on the wolves. That would be nice, to have one less group of supernatural killers after him.

Maybe he should carry around a can of bear spray when he went on his trip into the woods. Like that would work. It didn't matter if there was a portal to hell in his way; he was going to that meadow.

It's what he'd be doing today, if he hadn't been forced into marching headfirst into his own personal hell.

Okay, that was dramatic, even for him. It was a house party. He was going with his best friend, that wasn't hell. A little awkward. Maybe, he'd live.

It couldn't be that bad, right? If he didn't like it, they could leave. Jules had said so. Though he felt that if they didn't hangout, at least a little, she'd be upset. They were driving an extra hour out of the way just to go.

Parties were a good place to engage in classic teenage risky behavior, the kind he'd been warned to avoid all his life. Also the kind that may stir an appearance from the voice of his rarely appearing conscience. That could be fun. He didn't like to drink, but he liked the idea of drowning his sorrows. In the abstract.

Beau wondered if Edythe's imagined disapproval would echo louder than the silence she left behind. Enough to imagine she was really speaking to him, that she really cared if he lived or died. Especially when sleep eluded him. Not even the Edythe of his nightmares cared to visit him anymore.

All his body did when it was time to sleep was shut down for a few hours each night out of pure exhaustion.

If he had to admit it, his cast was a benefit for once. There wasn't a better excuse he could come up with to avoid embarrassing himself on the dancefloor. Keep to himself, observe rather than participate. There was no way he'd go otherwise.

Part of him felt he should be nervous, despite embracing risk. His newfound philosophy did nothing to change his constant worrying nature. With his brain 'helping' by running through every worst-case scenario he could come up with, from someone bringing a gun, to bullying him into trying drugs. Dare had taught him throughout school that any and all parties were cesspools of drug addicts and dealers.

Beau would never. Though he had to admit since Edythe had described it to him, he'd been morbidly curious. Even if it would give him some strange understanding of Edythe's own addiction. It'd break Charlie's heart and probably make him feel even worse.

When he was certain no one was looking, he raised his hand and struck himself across the face, hard. A useful trick he'd found to get around his brain's constant negging.

He was going to a house-party, not a drug den. He was going to make himself sick if he spent all day imagining idiotic scenarios that would almost certainly never happen. Jules was right. He needed to go, if only so his imagination would calm down.

Once his shift had ended, it was only a couple of hours until Jules was supposed to pick him up. Time to kill, his worst enemy.

Charlie always spent his Sundays at the river, without fail. Leaving him alone in the house, after he finished putting away some laundry and cleaned out the sink. He went to his room.

His keyboard sat just where he'd left it. Retrieving the first of Archie's disks, he slid it into his computer, starting where he'd shown him the first song. An insultingly simple children's song that looked far easier than it actually was.

Despite his clumsy attempts, playing the keyboard—a remnant of Edythe's presence—offered a fleeting sense of connection. This had been her favorite instrument, now it was his.

While he was playing, he was focused, focused on not making too many mistakes. Focused on playing fast enough for the disjointed notes to sound like music. Focused on that and only that.

Archie had set him up for the foreseeable future, with sheet music for over a dozen different songs with handwritten notes describing the emotions within each. His sight must've already shown him what interested him most about learning the melodies.

It'd take him weeks before he ran through those. He couldn't even read the damn things at his current level.

He kept his eyes closed as he played. Ensuring his fingers found the keys by instinct, forcing himself to improve through sheer trial and error.

After some time had passed, Beau felt strange. Like someone was watching him. The feeling persisted as he tried to ignore it. Reluctantly, he stopped playing and looked around for the source of the disturbance. His ears straining to pick up any sounds from his surroundings.

Then he looked out the window and saw who it was. Her face resting atop her hands perched on the windowsill as she watched him. A smile that made her look far too pleased with herself painted on her coppery complexion.

Beau's cheek burned as he gaped in shock at the girl. An urge to slam the blinds shut and toss his keyboard into the trash coming over him.

"Heya Mozart, ready to party?"

"How long have you been watching?" Beau's voice wavered, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Long enough. You sound great. I never knew you played." Her eyes held no hint of untruth, yet he felt an overwhelming urge to bury his instrument in a place no one would ever find.

"I didn't. It's a new thing I'm trying. For fun, I don't actually expect to go anywhere with it." He kept his gaze on the floor as he mumbled out his response just loud enough to be heard.

"I think you sounded great! Better than I ever could. Now please tell me that's not what you're wearing." Beau felt himself beginning to protest before he looked down. His awful smelling uniform still stuck to his skin.

"No, let me get changed. I'll meet you out there."

"You got it." Despite clearly hearing him, she hadn't moved an he turned around, his shirt was already half off, forcing him to slam the blinds shut.

Hidden behind the mostly untouched clothes in the back corner of his closet was a suit, dark navy with white highlights.

"Goddamnit Archie." He breathed out the words as his hand brushed over the silken fabric. How many gifts was he up to now? The car, two suits, a watch and a keyboard. He'd nearly given him more stuff than the rest of his family combined.

Archie had snuck in, despite him saying to his face that he didn't want him to. Had he done it after the party? Before? Beau cursed himself for never looking in his closet until now. He couldn't be sure how long it'd been sitting.

Now he didn't trust if any of his clothes were really his. Jules was waiting for him, and he'd already spent too much time raging at his absent former friend.

He threw on a nice button up and changed out the pants he'd worked in. When he saw Jules, he felt horribly underdressed.

Jules had traded her oil-stained overalls and grease-smudged face for a sleek, emerald-green dress that clung to her curves and shimmered under the fading light. For the first time, Beau saw her not just as his tough, no-nonsense friend, but as a girl. A person just like him, with depths and complexities he'd never bothered to understand fully. The transformation was striking, and it stirred a mix of admiration and apprehension in him.

She looked incredible. He had to admit that. A pit was forming in his stomach as his worst fears were confirmed. Even he couldn't pretend to not see what was happening.

Jules liked him. He'd figured that out despite his best attempts to ignore it. Like an idiot, he'd thought maybe it would fizzle out, if he never addressed it. That seeing the mess he was would change her mind. Now it was coming back to bite him.

It was his fault, as it always was. He should've made it clear from the start he could never be the person she wishes. One who could love her, and only her, the way she deserves.

"Jules…"

Despite being done up like a runway model, Jules' face was apprehensive, a fearful look in her eyes as they watched each other in silence.

"So, how do I look?" She pushed through her fear, with a smile that never reached her eyes.

"You look great Jules."

"Really?"

"Really."

"So, why are you looking at me like that?"

He took a deep breath to calm himself, keeping his voice steady. "This isn't a date, Jules, it can't be. If you don't want to go now, I understand. I'm sorry for making you go through all this effort."

His eyes were already closed, terrified to see pain or hatred in his friend's eyes, unsure which he'd prefer. Instead, she was giggling, and he opened his eyes. To see her break down further, laughing at him so much she had to catch her breath, hands on her knees.

"You plan on telling me what's so funny?"

"Beau, and don't take this the wrong way, but you can be really self-centered sometimes. I didn't do this for you. I did this for me."

"Wait, you did? But why?"

"I haven't left the reservation in so long I can't remember the last time I did. Sometimes it feels good to look good, and I look fantastic. If you get to see what you're missing out on… Well, that's just a bonus."

"So this isn't a date, right?" Beau grimaced as he spoke. It felt cruel. Forcing her to reiterate that she understood he wasn't interested. He just had to be sure.

"It doesn't have to be, it can. If not, we go out and have fun as friends. I win, no matter what."

"It's not a matter of time. My feelings haven't changed, they can't, I'm sorry."

A retort caught in Jules' throat, the girl cutting herself off sharply. Beau was relieved to see her expression convulse as she fought her urge to continue their 'argument'. Neither of their hearts were in it.

"Wait, aren't we supposed to pick up parts for the bikes too? You're gonna do it in that?"

"Beau, you're an idiot. The bikes can wait a day. They won't explode if we ignore them to go have fun."

Beau crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "You tricked me."

"A little, I guess. What did you think was gonna happen? We'd stash the parts in the car and go party? We'd get robbed, Beau."

He had to admit she was right. He'd not thought much of the logistics, or at all, really. It didn't sit with him right that she'd lie to him like that.

"If you just said you really wanted to go to a party I would've gone, you didn't have to lie." The words came out harsher than he'd intended. At first he'd been joking, but the more he thought he realized it upset him, more than he'd like to admit.

"Really? Mr. I hate parties? Beau and know I say this because I care. You're one of the most stubborn people I've ever met. I was certain you'd need some practical excuse to drive all the way to Seattle. I'm flattered you're that eager to appease me."

"Why are you so desperate for me to go to this stupid party, anyway?"

"You don't wanna hear it." Her darkened expression mirrored his own. At some point, this had turned into an argument. The tension between them only grew as he tried to grasp why he'd gotten upset to begin with.

"Try me."

"To meet some people, shock your system with something new. Maybe meet a pretty girl able to cheer you up? Even if it's not me, it's better than…this." Her voice was a whisper by the end, and she simply looked at him. As what she was talking about was so obvious that it didn't need to be said.

His temper roared at the implication. Did she really think it was that simple? That he was that shallow? It wasn't her looks that kept them apart; it was his love for Edythe. That was why, it would always be why. It was part of who he was, or what was left of him.

"A pretty girl able to cheer me up? You're serious? Jules, you're the most attractive human being I've seen. Looks have nothing to do with how I feel about you."

"I, you're…what?" All the blood in Jules' body seemed to pool in her cheeks as she looked at him, slack-jawed. Her brain still trying to comprehend what she'd just heard.

The words surprised him as much as they did her. It was true, though he'd never put much thought into it before. Edythe wasn't a human, for one. Going off the list in his head, Jules had them all beat by a mile.

Edythe wasn't even on the same planet as everyone else, above it all.

"You deserve someone who loves you with all of their heart. I can't. You know why." He choked out the words, painful memories bubbling back up to the surface, ready to drag him back down to that dark place. Almost as painful as the unshakable feeling that he couldn't love again.

It made him resent Jules for forcing the subject. Forcing him to deal with the problem he'd come to her to avoid. That his heart was completely and utterly broken, beyond any hope of repair.

"Okay, I shouldn't have brought it up. It's clearly too soon, still, my bad. You must know this isn't about me, Beau. Fine, no pretty girls, but you can't keep going on like this. You know that."

Edythe was right, again. He was falling apart. Jules couldn't pretend for more than a day.

Couldn't turn a blind eye while he ripped himself apart. Why? Why couldn't he live this lie a little longer? Everything was happening too fast.

They'd hung out twice. He'd not exactly been at his best the first time they did. He honestly found her blunt way of handling it comforting, in a strange way. Better than how most everyone else had treated him. Like a toddler or a suicide bomber, always walking on eggshells and being 'polite.' Beau hated polite, now more than ever.

It only further begged the question: How did she know he'd fallen apart? She hadn't seen it. For all she knew, it could've been a fluke, or an off day for him. How did she know it wasn't? That he was falling apart, slowly but surely.

Then the answer came to him. It was obvious. She had been worried. He'd seen that in the way she looked at him, the concerned looks she gave when he thought he wasn't paying attention. Yet she lacked information to confirm her suspicions, only having seen him a couple times.

Luckily for her, someone who had seen was a regular visitor to the black house. He must've told her everything. It's not as if he left the man with a lot of options. This must've been the only way he felt he could help.

It didn't matter what he wanted, it never did. They were tired of looking at him, of living a lie that got harder to believe each time he told it.

"Let me guess, you've been talking to Charlie."

"Yes, he dropped by the other day, and we talked. I was the one who asked him. After you beat the snot out of Lee and almost cried about it afterwards. It made me wonder how you'd been doing before then. Charlie gave me an incredibly detailed description, left nothing out. He's worried and now, so am I."

"I'm fine, I've been fine. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"I think he does. Do you know what I did after my dad died?"

The seriousness of the question forced him to look at Jules again, his scowl softening as her doughy hazel eyes seemed to contain an endless amount of care.

"Those first few months were really hard. I threw myself into my studies, sports, anything I could. I even fixed my brother's stupid dirt bike just for something to do."

Beau kept quiet. She'd never opened up like this to him before. Though he didn't want to hear her point, he'd listen. He owed her that much.

"It worked, for a time. I wasn't dealing with it. The opposite, I was running, hiding, doing anything I could to avoid the pain. It was still there, it still is. It was eating me alive then, more painful than it would've been if I faced it head on."

"I've faced it, more times than I can count. It hasn't gotten easier and it probably never will. I have accepted that. Why can't you?"

"You shouldn't accept something so awful, please Beau let me-"

"Stop!" They both jumped at his sudden outburst, each equally shocked at his raised voice.

He felt himself hesitate at her vulnerable expression, but pressed forward. Better now than later. She had to see this, to know what she was really getting into.

This is who he really was, selfish and rude. Wishing only to suffer in silence, properly revel in his despair. No matter who he might hurt in the process.

"Stop trying to fix me, or help me, or to make things better, whatever you wanna call it. It's pointless. I know you care, and I'm glad you do, really. But if there was something you could do, I'd ask."

"Fine, should I just go then?"

"No, I'm sorry, I just…" He let the unfinished sentence hang in the air, the words still not having come to him.

"Can we just pretend this conversation never happened? Try again later?" A selfish request, one he had no right to ask. He had no intention of changing his mind.

Jules was the last pillar he'd not shaken from underneath him, all that kept him from collapsing into himself. He couldn't push her away, even if it'd be better for her if he did.

Beau was too weak to go on without her. It'd be tough to even get out of bed without the promise of temporary relief that his time with Jules brought him.

That was what he deserved, to sit in bed and rot. But it wasn't what he wanted, not truly.

"And you'll listen then?"

"I didn't say that."

"Fine, but I will pull you up out of this, even if I have to drag you myself, mark my words."

"You already have, it's just, there's just…some things that can't be fixed. I'm sorry."

Jules looked to be under an immense strain as she forced herself to stop arguing, literally choking the words down as she glared at him.

"Fine, you're wrong, categorically and empirically wrong, but I'll let you be, for now. Do you still wanna go to the party, or would you rather spend the night pouting? Leaving this gorgeous girl alone, without a male to safely escort her?"

She was teasing him now, giving him the gift he'd asked for. To keep pretending that everything was fine, and this was just a pair of close friends going to have fun. Not a misguided attempt to 'cheer him up', whatever the hell that meant.

Unless there was a clone of Edythe, one who actually loved him, waiting for him when he arrived, anything less than that would be like draining the ocean with a cup.

Jules was unstoppable when she set her mind to something, helping him was no exception. She wouldn't quit until she achieved her goal.

"I don't know. You know how much I like to pout."

They shared a nervous laugh that seemed to melt the tension between them. Being with Jules, he could smile. It wasn't love, not the love she wished for. He knew that. Still, it was nice, the only light in his ever darkening world.

Beau was glad that he hadn't ruined their night before it began. At the very least, it wouldn't make him feel any worse. That wasn't possible.

' Enjoy it while it lasts, Beau, she'll get sick of you soon enough. ' He thought bitterly. Scowling at the setting sun as it cast a pinkish glow over the horizon.

Beau felt a knot in his stomach as he and Jules walked up the path to the "house party." It was getting dark, and the house loomed before them, dilapidated and clearly abandoned. Beau's initial irritation with Jules' insistence on attending the party had given way to a creeping unease now that they were here.

"Jules, this isn't even someone's house," Beau muttered, glancing around at the overgrown yard and boarded-up windows.

Jules smirked, adjusting her dress. "Technically, it's still a party at a house. Just not anyone's current house. Guess she didn't wanna clean up after, smart girl."

Beau sighed. "Great. A party at a haunted house, just what I needed."

Inside, the house was a chaotic mess of flashing lights, loud music, and people crammed into every available space. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Beau felt his anxiety spike, but Jules gave him a reassuring smile.

"Relax, Beau. It'll be fun. Just try to enjoy yourself," she said, giving his arm a squeeze before disappearing into the crowd.

Beau wandered aimlessly for a while, feeling like a fish out of water. He found a relatively quiet corner and leaned against the wall, watching the throngs of people dancing and talking. After a while, he spotted a group of people around his age, deciding to join them. Knowing Jules would complain if she saw him moping instead of socializing.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, introducing himself. They welcomed him into their circle, and he soon found himself engaged in conversation. As the minutes turned to hours, Beau began loosening up, laughing at jokes and even sharing a few stories of his own.

One girl in particular, Erin, was the most friendly. She had a contagious laugh and a knack for making everyone around her feel at ease. The first aside from Jules able to turn his polite smiles and laughs into the genuine article. It made sense they were friends.

"So, how do you know Jules?" Erin asked, leaning in to hear him over the music.

"We're friends from school," Beau replied, feeling a warmth spread through him that had been absent for a long time. "She's pretty persistent when she wants to be. You know her too?"

Erin laughed. "Yeah, from years back. Persistent is one way to describe it. She seems like a good friend, even after all these years."

"She is," Beau admitted, glancing around the room. "I guess I owe her for dragging me here."

They continued talking, and Beau started relaxing more and more into the flow of their conversation. For a moment, he felt like a normal teenager, free from the weight of his worries. He even attempted to dance, though his injured foot limited his movements severely. Which he was more than thankful for.

Now that he started feeling genuinely comfortable, he was curious to explore the abandoned house a bit. Feeling almost bubbly as he made his way upstairs, navigating through the dimly lit rooms, trying to see if Jules was anywhere. In his search, he found what seemed to be a study, its walls lined with peeling wallpaper and dust-covered shelves.

On one of the shelves, something caught his eye. Sitting on the desk facing the door was a singular photo, framed by rusted metal. They looked totally out of place. Styled differently than anything else in the house.

He walked over and picked up the old, sepia-toned photograph. His blood ran cold.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

Beau was right. These photos were out of place in the otherwise modern house. He'd seen a few abandoned pictures laying around, of the family that once had stayed here.

These were completely different, far older, the faces instantly familiar. He couldn't forget them if he tried.

Joss and Victoria.

They were standing together, looking like a couple from a long forgotten era. Joss, looking disinterested while Victor had a strained smile, his arm hovering just above the woman's shoulder.

These weren't from this house, they weren't even taken the same century it was made.

That meant someone had left them here, intentionally. So that he would be the one to find them.

His mind raced, piecing together the situation as his body tensed, breath growing frantic as his limbs trembled.

Victor. It had to be him. Victor was playing some sick game, leaving these photos here to torment him.

So that he knew, knew that he was still out there, waiting in the dark. Or as a warning, so he didn't die without feeling terror first.

The terror of prey that had unknowingly walked into the den of a lion.

The fragile peace he'd found in meeting new people and having fun tonight was shattered. He painfully clutched his chest, forcing his racing heart and breathing to calm while he figured out what to do.

Beau had to leave. Now.

He felt the primal fight-or-flight response kicking in, the instinct to protect Jules at all costs.

The thought of Victor coming for him didn't bother him much. It wasn't his own safety that had panicked him so much.

Because he wasn't the only one in danger, he'd directly put Jules' life at risk, and it was all his fault. Victor was here hunting him and Jules was stuck directly in the crossfire.

Even if it killed him, he'd make sure he never got his filthy, inhuman hands on her. He was the one he wanted. It'd be better if he let Jules take the car while he stayed behind.

No, she wouldn't let him, they'd either leave together or not at all.

All the faces in the crowd held the potential to be him. He had to find Jules first, before Victor, he had to.

He charged down the stairs, crashing through the crowd of people like a force of nature, knocking inebriated teens out of his way. He'd made quiet the scene before nearly colliding with Jules in the hallway.

"Beau, what's wrong?" Jules asked, her eyes widening with concern.

"We need to leave. Now," Beau said, his voice shaking. "It's not safe here."

"What are you talking about?" Jules demanded, but Beau was already dragging her towards the stairs.

"Just trust me," he insisted, his heart pounding in his chest.

They made it to the car, and Beau fumbled with the keys, his injured foot throbbing in pain. He didn't care. They had to get out of there. Jules watched him, bewildered and worried, but she didn't argue.

He slammed his foot into the accelerator, the car groaning in protest as it roared to life, smoke billowing up from his tires as he shattered the speed limit.

As they sped away from the house, Beau's mind was a whirlwind of fear and anger. The lingering dread of Victor's revenge had been looming over him for so long, and now it felt like it was closing in. The night that had started with a glimmer of normalcy was shattered, leaving him more on edge than ever.

"Beau, what the hell happened back there?" Jules asked, her voice breaking through his thoughts.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I... I just got a bad feeling, okay? Saw something that freaked me out, and I didn't want to take any chances."

Jules frowned, clearly not satisfied with his vague explanation. "What did you see?"

Beau struggled to come up with a plausible lie. "I thought I saw someone... with a gun. It was scary…terrifying, actually. I just wanted to get out, in case something bad happened."

Jules looked at him skeptically, but she didn't press further. "Wow, really? There's always that one guy who has to do something stupid and ruin things for everyone else. You really never know what's out there."

"Yeah, I guess you never know."

Beau didn't get to sleep that night. Whether it was a blessing or a curse, he couldn't decide. His fingers itched to press the keys of his keyboard, but his mind was a whirlwind, refusing to settle.

Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the wind outside, felt like a harbinger of his imminent demise. Curled up in a ball on his bed with all the lights on, he resembled a child afraid of the dark. The shadows seemed to shift menacingly, and his eyes darted nervously around the room.

It wasn't like the near-death experiences he'd brought upon himself. Those had been choices—reckless, perhaps, but his own. A swift end, a merciful plunge into oblivion, where pain ceased and only silence remained.

But this? This was different. This was a slow, agonizing death promised by someone who hated him with every fiber of their being.

"Why hadn't he just done it?" Beau muttered to himself, clutching the blanket tighter. Someone had to have left those photos. Victor had been there, close enough to touch. It would have been so easy. His only protection was the inattentive eyes of the strangers at the house with him.

This was why, this all-encompassing dread. The helpless fear of prey, only able to watch as a predator circles in for the kill.

There was no one to save him this time. Once Victor felt Beau had sufficiently suffered, he would kill him. A vampire attack was more like a natural disaster than an animal attack; the best you could hope for was that one never came your way.

Where could he run? Victor moved faster than a car. Running would only delay the inevitable. Sooner or later, he'd find him. Anyone with Beau would be just as much at risk; vampires left no witnesses, accepted no surrenders or truces. They were creatures of incredible passion. Edythe had taught him that. Victor would probably kill everyone he knew for good measure. All that wouldn't be enough to sate his lust for revenge.

Because of him, Joss was dead. Beau tried to place himself in Victor's shoes. If someone had taken Edythe from him...

He'd do the same. The answer came instantly. Perhaps that was the human still left in Victor. It made him relatable, if no less terrifying.

Beau would be just as vicious to anyone who hurt Edythe, more even. Anyone who dared lay a finger on her would suffer for it. It wouldn't be heartless; after all, his heart would have already died.

Unless it was Edythe herself who forced them apart. That was worse, in a way. Hating her was impossible, like trying to will the sun not to rise. His heart and mind were shackled by an unbreakable bond, no matter how much pain it caused him.

It sounded nice, to have someone to blame. Someone to drag down, force them to experience the same pain you did, if only for a moment.

He was just so... helpless. Useless. A victim in waiting, nothing more. He hated it. What could a human do against a vampire?

That question stuck in his head, endlessly repeating. If he could find an answer, maybe he could sleep, make himself less paranoid, or at the very least give him something to do.

Warily, he got up and went to his desk, pulling out a pen and paper. He wrote "Vampire" at the top of the page with a line splitting it in half. On one side, he listed everything he knew about their strengths: superhuman strength, speed, sense of smell, hearing. Hardened skin that felt like chiseled rock. The ability to regenerate completely unless burned. And the special gifts they seemed to get at random. If Victor had one, he didn't know about it. Beau hoped that meant he didn't, but he knew he wasn't that lucky.

The list of weaknesses was far shorter, with only a single entry: Fire? They didn't sell flamethrowers in Washington, so that didn't leave him with many self-defense options. It'd be better if he could get his hands on something able to cut through rock. If it could do that, maybe it could work.

He looked online and found a hardware store that sold equipment for just that purpose: diamond-edged power tools. If that didn't work against a vampire, nothing would. It was a big if, but he wasn't exactly swimming in options. Or, if he could find out how to make napalm, he could blow them both up. Though Charlie would arrest him before he ever got the chance.

They were fast, much faster than he could ever hope to match. What was his plan? Sit in his room with a power saw, waiting for Victor to show up? Pray that he's gracious enough to appear next to a power outlet? It wouldn't just be suicidal, embarrassingly stupid, too.

A thought exercise, that's all it could be. One that only calmed him slightly. The only thing that could kill a vampire was a vampire. That's why they lived for hundreds of years; they were the apex predator.

It made him feel a little better to imagine he'd be able to do something, anything. In the face of such inescapable doom. The reality was far harsher. One day, he'd be going about his daily routine, and then his life would be over, just like that. Victor wouldn't even give him time to cry or beg for his life before draining the blood from his frail body. Or maybe he would. Then he'd be helpless, tortured, until Victor tired of his cries.

Besides, the hardware store was in Seattle. No way in hell he was ever going back there. When he saw how late it was, he opted to skip school. Hopefully, Jules wouldn't mind if he hid out at her place.

It was the only place that felt safe, if only slightly. At least with Jules, he could enjoy himself, savor what was left of his life. There was a possibility he'd get lucky. The wolves and Victor could fight, kill each other off, leaving him to ride off into the sunset, miraculously still alive.

"Better the man-eating monsters you know, right?"

His empty room appreciated the joke as much as he did, the silence overwhelming.

Beau really was screwed. No other way to put it. At this point, it was a race to see who got to him first, the wolves or the vampires. Maybe Edythe had been right—this world was too dangerous for a human to survive long. Especially without a supernatural bodyguard to look out for you.

Not like he could go back in time and stop himself. All he could do now was try to survive, or at least not get anyone else killed with him. That would be his promise, to himself, and to anyone who might get hurt because of him.

When he finally fell asleep, it was dreamless, an occasional benefit of sleep deprivation.

Beau awoke in the early afternoon, calling Jules as soon as he did, who sounded thrilled when he told her he was coming over early.

His foot ached despite not having done anything to it, that morning. Probably a result of his mad-dash the night before. He'd been so scared he'd not felt anything aside from the racing of his heart.

It was almost certain that he'd extended his recovery time. It wouldn't surprise him if he'd rebroken his toes all over again.

A regular human was already at a hopeless disadvantage against a vampire hunting them. Add a crippled foot to that, and Victor would barely have to try when killing him. He'd be able to do it blindfolded.

At least he was safe here. Safe being a relative term, the werewolves weren't actively trying to kill him, yet. Though he didn't feel good about his chances if he went into the woods alone.

Jules was waiting for him at the garage as he limped over to her. She looked like she'd been working all morning. A wrench in hand and a winning smile on her face that put him instantly at ease. His gloomy mood melted away by the radiant presence of his best friend.

When she led him inside, he saw why she looked so excited. The two wrecks that had been sitting in the garage were gone, replaced with two refurbished motorcycles that looked nearly done to his eyes.

"You went out and got the parts?"

"Yeah, our school was out this Monday for a teacher's whatever, jamboree or something. That left me with time to kill. So, to make up for my deception last night, I got them myself."

Beau felt his cheeks burn at the mention of their argument last night. It wasn't his proudest moment. The thought of anyone lying to him, even if it was harmless or done for good reason, upset him more than it should have.

He knew why. It wasn't fair to Jules. She wasn't the reason he had trouble trusting anyone, anything. It had nothing to do with her. He'd make it up to her somehow.

"This was my idea, you should've let me pay. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing at all. I drove out to the junkyard early this morning and went digging, found most of what we needed, the rest we can buy later."

"Are they already done? You should've let me help a little."

Jules let out a short laugh at this. "Not even close. But we're getting there, depending on how fast we move."

"You're a genius, Jules, I seriously mean it. I don't know what to say."

"Can never go wrong saying more nice things about me. Not that smart though, or I would drag this out at least a little."

It wasn't like Jules to mumble under her breath. He'd heard the muttered end to her sentence, knew what she meant immediately. It was a feeling he understood better than most.

She was worried he'd leave, that the only reason they spent time together was to fix the bikes. It wasn't possible for her to be more wrong. The bikes could explode for all he cared, it's not like Edythe's voice was going anywhere, his nightmares made sure of that.

It seemed unlikely that anyone would be enthusiastic about keeping him around, but Jules proved otherwise. She was his friend, no, his best friend. He preferred spending time with her over anything else.

"You must be getting sick of constantly working on these bikes. Wanna take a break? Like you said, they won't explode if we ignore them a little."

"I guess we can. Got anything in mind?" His words seem to lift her mood somewhat, an apprehensive smile matching his own and her hazel finally locked into his own.

"I haven't done any homework in like, two weeks. It'd be a good idea for me to start catching up before Charlie handcuffs me to my desk."

Jules looked up, a smirk playing on her lips. "Beau Swan suggesting we do homework? Did I just step into an alternate universe?"

Beau chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. "I figured we could kill two birds with one stone. Plus, my history essay isn't going to write itself. It is due tomorrow."

"Ah, another practitioner of the internationally famous art of procrastination." Jules teased, setting her wrench down and wiping her hands on a rag. "Alright, let's do it. But only because I want to see you try to string together a coherent thought about the Civil War."

They went inside. Using the dining room table to place their books and create a plan of attack. Beau wasn't the best student, but history was by far his worst subject, as math was Jules. They complimented each other; she helped him with wording his essay while he gave her the answers to her math. He was by far the worst teacher.

Beau rolled his eyes, grabbing his backpack from his car as Jules patiently waited for him to limp after her. "You know, for someone who struggles with basic algebra, you're awfully confident in your academic superiority."

"Hey, I'm a mechanical genius, not a mathlete," Jules shot back, pulling out her own notebook and sliding into the seat beside him. They spread out their books and papers, settling into a comfortable silence.

"So," Beau began, tapping his pen against his notebook. "What's the deal with the whole 'manifest destiny' thing, anyway?"

Jules laughed, shaking her head. "It's basically the 19th-century version of 'we're taking your land because we can.'"

Beau snorted. "Sounds about right. I guess history really is written by the victors."

"True that," Jules agreed, leaning over to peer at Beau's notes. "You know, you could actually pass this class if you put in half the effort you put into avoiding it."

"Yeah, yeah," Beau muttered, scribbling down a few lines. "Maybe I just need a better tutor."

Jules nudged him with her elbow. "Oh, I'm sure I could teach you a thing or two. But let's face it, you enjoy being the brooding intellectual. It's part of your charm."

Beau raised an eyebrow. "Charm, huh? I didn't know I had any."

"Don't let it go to your head," Jules retorted, a playful glint in her eyes. "You're already insufferable enough."

"Coming from the girl who thinks fixing bikes is a valid form of stress relief, I'll take that as a compliment," Beau said, grinning.

"Touché," Jules admitted, smiling back. "But seriously, Beau, lighten up a bit. Life's too short to be sulking all the time."

Beau's smile faltered for a moment, a shadow passing over his features. Jules noticed, her expression softening.

"Hey," she breathed. "I didn't mean to bring you down. I just...I worry about you, you know?"

"I know," Beau replied quietly. "And I appreciate it. Really. It's just...hard sometimes."

Jules was far too gracious to him. The best he could do was trickle out little bits of his emotions. If he let too many out at once…

It wasn't ever a good thing. If he wanted Jules to believe he was fine, he had to at least pretend like he was. He couldn't expect her to turn a completely blind eye to his suffering, though he wished she would.

Jules reached out, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "That's why I'm here, okay? We'll get through it. Together."

Beau looked at her, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thanks, Jules. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd probably flunk history, for one thing," she teased, breaking the tension. "Now, let's get this homework done before we both pass out from boredom."

Beau laughed, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "Deal. But don't say I didn't warn you if my essay puts you to sleep."

It was close to sunset by the time he and Jules stopped working. In a single day, they'd both nearly caught up completely to the work they'd neglected.

Despite spending his entire day at the black house, he was still reluctant to leave.

Victor had not come to kill him, yet, and Jules wasn't pressing him on why they'd had to leave so suddenly last night. It was a fragile peace, but it was peace.

Not because of anything he'd done. Aside from selfishly putting a person who cared about him in danger. It was because he was sitting in werewolf central, the one place even a Vampire would fear to tread.

"Weird question, but what do you know about Samantha Uley?"

Jules' expression darkened at his mention of the girl. "She keeps to herself, mostly, her and her gang. They love to act like they're the ones running the reservation, like they're tribal cops or some crap like that."

"Her gang?"

"Paula, Jay, used to be Lee too, but they had a falling out. They're just weird, always hanging out together. Watching the rest of us like a bunch of creeps, never saying why. They're not doing anything, not really, it just feels…"

"Wrong?" Beau hesitated for a moment. Was it really worth it to tell her? That he had an unshakable but purely insane belief, that Samantha and her 'gang' were much more than a group of disgruntled teens.

Jules was trustworthy, she'd believe him. Even when all evidence and common sense worked against him.

What would change if he did? Jules would be horrified to learn that some of her tribe had become monsters. She'd want to stop them. Reveal what was happening to the rest of the world, so they knew.

Then they'd probably kill her, before or after she revealed their secret. They'd probably prefer to not kill someone on the reservation, but she wouldn't leave them any choice.

It wasn't right; she deserved to know the truth. Jules was his rock right now, the anchor that kept him tied to reality, to the joy he could still find in it.

It's the same as with Victor, exactly the same as last night. If he could help it, he'd make certain no one hurt the ones he cared about. Not Charlie, not Jules, not the school friends he'd already scorned. None of them deserved to die because they were unlucky enough to know him.

"There's just something weird about them, the way they never talk, ever. That's not even mentioning how they're always attached at the hip. The secret meetings, the cryptic half-answers to any reasonable que-"

She stopped herself mid rant, looking at him for some form of assurance, a glimmer of insecurity in her hazel eyes.

"I sound crazy, don't I?"

"No, you don't. They're being weird, really weird."

"I just wish I knew what they were planning." Jules' whole body was tense as she spoke, a fearful look in her eyes.

She was so close to figuring it all out, knew something was wrong, but couldn't prove it. They were obviously planning something for the reservation, neither of them knew what.

It scared him too, more than it did her, probably. The truth was far worse than anything she'd imagined. Jules needed him to be strong, or at least not a black-hole for emotional support, taking without ever giving.

"Hey, it'll be okay. I got your back, even if they try sacrificing you to the devil or whatever. Have you talked to Bonnie at all?"

She snorted derisively, "I did. She said I didn't understand them because they were older, finally gotten out of puberty and all that crap. I honestly don't know if she's lying or honestly believes it."

"Stay away from them, just to be safe."

Jules narrowed her eyes at the insistence in his voice. He hoped she'd just think he was being overprotective.

He wasn't. When man-eating wolves were involved, there was no such thing.

She supported him unconditionally, even when he was being a jerk or an idiot. He'd do the same for her, that was the least he could do.

"I've gotta get home to start dinner. Don't do too much while I'm gone. I'll be back."

"I'll see you." The urge to comfort the girl was overwhelming. He had to be careful not to give her any wrong ideas, so he kept it platonic. Rubbing a reassuring hand across her back for a few moments before leaving.

As he made his way over to his car, he glimpsed Samantha watching him from the shadows of the trees. Her eyes bore into him, and for a moment, Beau felt a chill run down his spine.

Beau turned away from Samantha's gaze, feeling the panic rising within him. He fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking as he got into his car and slammed the door shut.

Beau drove back from the reservation, his mind spinning with the conversation he just had with Jules. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the road, but his thoughts were a storm of revelation and dread. Jules had been wary, careful with her words, but Beau had only confirmed what he already feared.

To know he wasn't the only one suspicious was vindicating, but he had to be careful. He'd already put Jules in far more danger than she deserved. By his mere presence.

As he pulled into his driveway, the familiar sight of his home brought no comfort. The looming threat of Victor, still out there hunting him, combined with the new knowledge of the werewolves, weighed heavily on him. He killed the engine and leaned back in his seat, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I can't take this, I can't, I can't."

He punctuated every word with a slam against his steering wheel. It was as if Samantha was right outside his car window, still watching him from the woods.

Did she know? Was she suspicious of him? Beau's breath quickened, and he could feel the walls closing in around him. The sudden loss of tension from the conversation with Jules left a void that panic quickly filled. His chest tightened, and he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

Beau's vision blurred as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest. He gasped for air, but it felt like his lungs were being squeezed. The world around him seemed to tilt, and a ringing noise filled his ears. He was aware of a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead and the tingling in his fingers and toes.

"Calm down, Beau," he whispered to himself, but his voice was lost in the chaos of his mind. He closed his eyes, trying to ground himself, but images of Victor and Samantha swirled behind his eyelids. His body shook uncontrollably, and tears streamed down his face as he fought to regain control.

Minutes felt like hours as he sat there, battling the panic. He focused on the feel of the steering wheel beneath his fingers, the smell of the car's interior, the faint hum of the cooling engine. Slowly, the sensations started pulling him back from the edge. His breaths came in shallow, shaky gasps, but he was still breathing, still alive. The ringing in his ears subsided, and the world steadied itself around him.

Beau opened his eyes, still filled with tears, and looked around. The shadows of the trees loomed ominously, but for now, they were just shadows. He wiped his face with a trembling hand and forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath.

The driveway was quiet, but the silence held no comfort. Beau knew he wasn't safe, not truly. Victor was still out there, and now the werewolves were another threat he had to navigate. But for the moment, he was home. And that would have to be enough.

First, once he was certain his voice was steady. He took out his phone and called Charlie, said that Allen was back from his trip and that he'd be spending the night at his house.

Next he went into his bag, digging out the compass and map and lastly his large flashlight that had gotten buried beneath his schoolwork.

Beau had a rough idea of where the spot was, which was marked on his map. It'd take much longer to get there from his house, far riskier too, but he didn't want Charlie to notice his car was missing.

The moon provided no light to guide or help him see what was ahead. Only darkness, there had been none before either. It was a new moon, when the night was darkest.

There was no light aside from his own flashlight, a small beam cutting light barely penetrated the dense canopy of the forest, casting eerie shadows on the path ahead. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, every rustle of leaves a stark reminder of the lurking dangers. Beau's breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding with a relentless rhythm in his chest. His hands trembled as he clutched his backpack straps, each step forward both hesitant and determined.

He paused at the forest's edge, his eyes scanning the darkness that seemed to swallow everything beyond. The trees loomed like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands. A shiver ran down his spine, but he forced his feet to move, one step at a time, into the inky blackness.

Memories of the meadow flickered in his mind, a sanctuary of sunlight and laughter where he had once felt truly alive. The contrast between that place and the oppressive gloom around him was almost unbearable. His chest tightened, not just from fear, but from a deep, aching longing. He needed to see it again, to feel that fleeting happiness before the end.

Twigs snapped underfoot, and every sound seemed amplified in the silence. His eyes darted to every shadow, expecting to see Victor's menacing figure or the gleam of a wolf's eyes. His fear was a tangible thing, coiling in his stomach, but he pressed on. The thought of the meadow, that beautiful, peaceful place, pulled him forward like a beacon.

He couldn't help but think of the irony—seeking out the place of his happiest memory, knowing it could be the last thing he ever did. Yet, the thought gave him a strange sense of peace. If he had to face his end, he wanted it to be there, where joy had once been untainted by the shadows now chasing him.

Beau's footfalls grew more purposeful as he plunged deeper into the forest, his resolve hardening with each step. The fear and anticipation intertwined, creating a dizzying cocktail of emotions. He swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears he refused to shed. He had to keep going, had to reach the meadow. The darkness might close in around him, but for now, he clung to the hope of that final, precious moment of happiness.


"We are not afraid of death, we are afraid of dying."

"We are not afraid of the height, we are afraid of the fall."

"We are not afraid of the dark, we are afraid of what is in it."