Apicem Rapax

November 6, 2014

At this point in my life, I was certain that Amanda would become a party coordinator down the road; she seemed to do nothing but attend events or throw them. Last night she dedicated her get-together to women of a particular occupation, and she certainly had proven her love for strippers in the past. She'd taken things overboard though. The amount of money Amanda's parents made shamed the city, but I think that was the point of their living here. In their upper-crust society, they'd been shunned, and I was unsure why and didn't care since they didn't seem to either. Amanda would never have to know the struggles of life; she came from old money, so even if they ever became broke they would still be able to purchase a moderately-sized island and call it a country. Growing up with Amanda was like being best friends with royalty, and it taught me that the rules did not always apply to everyone.

Of course, after a night of drinking, throwing bills over strippers' asses, and running from the spontaneous orgy that began, I was exhausted. I desperately needed the rules of mortals and was hell-bent on crashing into my bed. It was all fun and games until some of the guys felt the need to whip out their dicks, and some of the strippers felt obligated to take their performance further. I didn't know whether to chalk up the events to college stupidity or to start thinking that just maybe my friend was rounding up all of the sex addicts she could find in hopes of organizing some sick club. If the latter were the case, then I would probably find myself rethinking my friendship with Amanda down the line. It didn't help that I couldn't get the image of her laughing at the whole thing out of my head. She just sat there in her ridiculous outfit that was an odd mix of dominatrix and madam as good, somewhat clean fun became an offense to the eyes.

I honestly had every intention of shaking the images from my head before I fell asleep but for the first time in a long time, I was honestly ready. I wasn't afraid of the dreams I may have had, and I was okay. It felt great that the biggest worry I had was that a video would surface of me running off, red-faced, from a group lap dance gone wrong. This felt so good that I seriously could've sucked my thumb as I drifted off into that sleep I'd been chasing for so long.

Impenetrable blackness was a very welcome deviation from the nightmares that had become the norm, and I never wanted it to end. Despite the lamentation of the abrupt awakening I received, when I realized who was responsible for my phone buzzing at –what to me right now- was an ungodly hour, I almost smiled. Even with the skin of my lips dry from sleep and most likely, dehydration, I couldn't wipe the tell-tale sign of happiness away, but I didn't want to. The conversation box was dedicated to the contact AW, and that first, gray bubble read, "How was last night?"

Biting my lip, I rolled over onto my back, holding the phone above me as I tried to come up with something to say on the topic he inquired about. "Insane. Probably shouldn't talk about it with a cop..." I wasn't too sure if some of the happenings were illegal or not, but I didn't intend to find out through text messages or lack thereof if he decided it was best to terminate all contact with me that he deemed unnecessary.

He quickly texted back with, "That bad?"

Forgetting exactly who he was, I divulged, "There were strippers." I mentally kicked myself. No way telling him that was okay right? He and Chris weren't the best of friends, but I was sure that if he felt that I was engaging in an unsavory activity he'd feel compelled to let my brother know what I was up to. Sure, Chris knew that I partied and did college-kid stuff, but for some reason, I was certain that strippers and I would be a combination that would force him over the edge.

"Sorry that I asked."

Though I was sure that the face he probably made was hilarious, I felt bad for allowing him to imagine a sweaty, desperate man grinding on me as I uncomfortably squirmed in a chair in the middle of the room. To ease his mind just a bit, I texted back, "Female strippers."

With the tone of ease apparent, he responded, "I suppose that's better."

"With huge asses. Is that helping your imagery?"

"It makes it easier to converse about."

For some reason, I got a little jealous that he could have possibly enjoyed everything that went on last night. I understood that he was a man, but I didn't want to imagine him being just as disgusting as my male peers had been. "Right. No images of sacks swinging back and forth." I couldn't be sure if he was indeed imagining the things that took place, but that didn't stop me from spitefully interjecting something gross to disrupt his possible thoughts.

"This is the thanks I get for checking in on you?" Great, he made me feel bad.

To cover for my unwarranted jealousy I sent, "Hey, if I get the opposite of what I like popping in my face, you have to suffer too."

"So, your friend likes women?" What a clever turn in the conversation. I found it somehow sweet that he was interested in my friend, however, I did question why he cared to know about someone who held no significance to him. Amanda was my friend, yes, but he was… I don't know what he was. Whatever he was, I felt possessive of him.

Feeling as though I had the authority to speak for my friend, I decided to let him in on her interests. "Amanda likes good-looking people, period. And for some reason, she thought I'd appreciate the 'surprise.' Guess she thought strippers twerking to Nicki Minaj would help." In some ways, Amanda's acts of empathy were like those of a child: I like this when I'm down, so it'll make you feel better too. If only she'd stick with letting me cuddle her favorite teddy bear rather than going all out to turn her house into a strip club which devolved into a brothel. I appreciated her willingness to go the extra mile for me, but we had to talk about her taking liberties with throwing parties in others' names.

For a while, I didn't notice that he'd texted back. My phone was on, "Do Not Disturb," so no noises alerted me to his reply. I could sleep a while with my phone's sound on, but around a certain time of the morning, it was set to keep all noises and buzzes from disturbing me. "So, you don't like women at all?"

Before I said anything else that was TMI, I reminded myself that some things were best left unsaid. Some stories should be untold for so long that I began to question their authenticity. Yeah, that was the plan for certain things. "Who doesn't love a stripper with a fatty? What I didn't love was... Let me stop before something illegal gets mentioned." The last bit was intentional. Without telling him everything, I wanted him to know that things got pretty wild, and I wasn't entirely okay with that. This would let him figure out that I could be mature and that I knew how to control myself.

"Do," he agreed. "It's best that you not implicate yourself. We wouldn't want for me to have to arrest you." There was a double meaning to that text that he couldn't have expected me to boldly respond to.

Without taking the bait, I almost ran out of replies, but I remembered what he'd texted before. "Why in the hell would you think I like women?" I was taken aback; he didn't just ask if I didn't like women, he added "at all." Those last words told me that at some point, he'd picked up an indicator that I was into chicks. It shouldn't have mattered what he perceived my sexuality to be, but for some reason, I was dying to make sure that he knew that I was only interested in men.

"Amanda is best friends with you for a reason." Yes, Amanda had shown interest in me in the past, and yes, maybe I'd made out with her before, but I would pretend that none of that happened right now. Right now, this urge existed within me to present myself as together and levelheaded.

"... I'm sure there's a compliment hidden in there." My reply was meant to read as though I were rolling my eyes.

"Not hidden."

With wide eyes, I dropped my phone onto my bed and stared through the darkness of my bedroom. Was he flirting with me? I needed to take a break from our conversation, but I was afraid that it would make it seem awkward if I waited too long before texting him back. "Anyhow, how are you?"

I'd expected him to take just as long as I did to reply, but the little bubbles appeared right away. "Better. I should be returning to work just after Thanksgiving."

"Seems so soon." I was a bit disturbed by this. He was making a rapid recovery, one that had to be unprecedented, but I was no doctor, and my mother admitted that this was none of her business since the hospital shunned her after her inquiry and let her professional opinion be known. So, though I wanted to fight him on his decision, I knew that I couldn't.

"By then, any cognitive issues should have arisen." He believed that would be a sufficient amount of time, but there was no way he was going to convince me that such a thing was true.

"I know you say you're fine, but I think you should take things slowly."

"No promises." Well, at least that made things easier on his part.

"Well, I guess that simplifies things. Anyway, I got some stuff to do. More than likely I'll be swinging by. Should I bring food?" There was no point in lingering on how long he would take to recover since his mind was made up. I could tell that he was a man who would rather work than play, so I wouldn't attempt to dissect his thoughts right now.

"That's fine. And no thanks. I've managed to stock the refrigerator."

"Awesome. Later :D" I wasn't ready to end it, but it would have been odd for me to keep texting him about nothing. Sure, there were several things we could've talked about, but none of those things were issues I wanted to bring up. No, I wanted to return to sleep and prayed for more nights/early mornings like this, especially ones that involved these nice checkup conversations. Once more, I began to fall asleep with nothing but positive thoughts, and a certain man's face illustrating them all.

Claire was becoming quite the fixture in my life as of late. Typically, I made no time for others as it impeded my work, but she was the most interesting person around me as of now. Sadly, in the here and now, I was dealing with Will and his propensity toward paranoia. However, since we were partners, I had no choice but to stomach it. This would have been easier if she were still texting me. "Have you spoken to Spencer?" I asked, rubbing my temples in a futile attempt to ease the throbbing that was developing.

"Last I heard from him, he said he was meeting an important partner." This was news to me. Spencer had no partners- not anymore at least. His delusions of grandeur kept him high in the sky on that throne that no one would dare aspire to, and a partner could not exist as they would be down with the rest of us who strained to even graze his heels. Sometimes I think I argued with Will for the hell of it; it seemed to calm his nerves concerning the topic that was bothering him. He became more focused on our pissing contest, which usually had little to nothing to do with his worries. "His partners are all dead. Marcus? Dead- we know that for sure."

Despite being the one to bring that up I struggled with that knowledge.

"Ashford? Dead. All of the Ashfords but one is dead," he continued.

Here it comes, I thought to myself, trying not to grin.

For the smallest of moments, he seemed to hesitate, almost as though he desired to avoid taking the bait. For that to be so, he'd have to know that it was bait, and I would have had to have become very bad at my job of riling up the "Superior Doctor William Birkin." He glanced around, holding his coffee mug close to his chest. Defiantly he brought his gaze back to me, appearing determined, but for what, I couldn't tell. "Two."

"Jesus fuck!" For a second, I thought he wised up, something that I both wanted and dreaded. Without his inane conspiracy, I'd have no form of entertainment.

"Quiet!" he hissed. "Some of us chose the route of attempting a normal life." Sometimes I forgot that Sherry was at the house. Will's presence usually meant she was nowhere near, but not because he didn't want her around. It was because he was never around. This meeting at his house was only possible because I was forced out of STARS until I received the okay to return to work.

Out of spite, I countered with, "Would you like to hear something truly terrifying, Will?" almost invoking that paranoia. "Sherry's thirteen, and I'm sure she's heard worse than the word, 'fuck.'"

Still hissing to get his point across but to avoid yelling, he replied, "No! That is the worst!"

In a conversational volume, I said, "No, there's cunt."

Mumbling in frustration, he reached over the table and at me, balling his hand into a fist that would only return to him with air. His dramatic scene and red face managed to get a laugh out of me. "That bullet to your slightly, less operative brain must have done something to you. You've never been this vulgar."

Before gulping the coffee that I didn't even need, I quipped, "Only when I'm getting blown." I'd never seen Will's face so red in my life, and I couldn't recall ever laughing so hard at his reaction.

Of course, before I could continue the torrent of vulgar "bombs," I heard Annette's voice. "I haven't heard Al laughing like this in decades, which is good, but…" she paused, stopping just in front of the kitchen table to cross her arms, "Sherry's trying to sleep."

"Good evening, Annette." With a grin, I took another unneeded gulp.

Cocking her head to the side, she gave me a smile meant to both welcome and chide me. "Good morning, Al." Her correction almost made me decide to respectfully apologize and offer to leave, however, I'd never done so before and wouldn't start now. With a flip of her hair, she turned her stare to her spouse whose face was still burning with embarrassment for… me, I suppose. "William, are we hosting on school nights now?"

Since Will had seemed to reach his limit, I decided to rudely imitate Annette's childish game of correction. "School morning."

Smirking at me over her shoulder, Annette sighed to herself in what sounded like sadistic delight. "You know Al, I can't wait for the day when you have to drag a thirteen-year-old out of bed. Enjoy getting time to brew those disgusting cups of coffee."

My scoff was diminished when a less red Will decided to capitalize on his wife's warning. "No, my dear, I fear Al will never learn the joys of parenthood seeing as his prospects are now also staring at forty." I ignored the perfect chance to once more tease Annette since she was only two years younger than me.

"Your words wound me. Never will I understand the joys of a child pissing in my face in front of a class under my charge."

With a scowl, Will brought his mug up to his lips, never taking his eyes off me while I smirked at the mortifying memory. I had no clue that baby girls were capable of that.

Rolling her eyes, Annette finally asked, "What's the meaning behind your little visit, Al?" Usually, this question meant that the lady was getting fed up and wanted to give the man an earful once the guest had made their exit, of course.

"I was just trying to calm your husband down since it appears you're not doing your job." Tonight, I figured that being bold with everyone would at least bring me some much-needed entertainment.

Stuck in her parenting mode, she threw back, "Because I care whether or not Sherry wakes up cranky, I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that." Turning back to Will, she asked, "And what's William worried about now?"

I'd perfected the art of ignoring Will's glares of protest, which caused his would-be imposing stares to turn into looks of helplessness and disbelief. "He thinks someone is coming for us. In other words: nothing."

Annette almost smirked at the expense of her husband until she heard a small, sleep-laden voice behind her. "There's a man in my room." Groggily, Sherry attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes.

Certain that she wouldn't remember anything, I asked, "Isn't she too old for this?"

For my sake, it seemed that Annette hadn't heard me, and she turned to say as she would to a three-year-old, "Oh honey, there's no man."

Annette's claim seemed to jolt the teen awake as she countered with, "I swear there is. He won't tell me who he is or why though."

Playing into it Sherry's claim, she asked, "Why not?"

After yawning casually, she looked at all of us seriously. "He just says that I ask more questions than my dad."

We all froze, so quiet that nothing sounded but the hum of the refrigerator. Sherry seemed to remain as calm as she'd been when she first announced that she had received an uninvited visitor, but I surprised myself when I threatened the very calm that she'd displayed. "Annette, take Sherry." As I got to my feet, Annette whispered something to her daughter, ushering her out of the room. To my surprise Will stayed, eyeing me as I retrieved my gun from the holster that was hidden beneath my jacket. Aiming the muzzle down, I turned off the safety, slowly and quietly making my way down the hallway, my usually clumsy colleague doing an exceptional job at mimicking me. We rounded the corner, pausing before we entered Sherry's room, cautiously letting our eyes adjust to the darkness; the sun had yet to bring forth any natural light that we could use to our advantage.

Sherry's room was a lie, one created to portray a vision of a perfect adolescent's life, A pretty little show crafted for any outsiders that were allowed to venture into her parents' home was all that existed here. Her true life was spent beneath the concrete of this city, seldom in my living room, but very rarely in this dollhouse. Bright, yellow walls were a brazen exaggeration undoubtedly implemented by Annette. Perhaps she owned a shaggy zebra print rug like that when was a child, a pink-shaded lamp like the one next to the bed, and maybe even an identical chair sat before her own window. I wondered about the intentions of these things because I knew that none of them came from Sherry.

Sherry hated One Direction and Taylor Swift, so the posters in her room were merely placeholders on a wall that would have otherwise remained bare. Sherry detested the animal print phase, and so I was sure that she trampled on the rug without regard for its design. More importantly, Sherry despised yellow and pink. They were loud, violent, and too often demanding to be seen. Sherry Birkin wanted peace, quiet, and more importantly, she wanted a room that would not distract her from her passions but rather promote them. Because this was nothing more than a place to rest her eyes, though I felt little guilt about having to step inside with a gun raised, or my will to tear the room apart.

I looked back to Will to signal that we were ready, only to see that at some point on our way out of the kitchen, he'd grabbed a frying pan. I wanted to sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, but instead, I decided to give him some credit for having the wherewithal to grab a weapon. It seemed that what it took to get him to harden up was fear for his daughter's life, and although I was sure that this is the way a father ought to react, I was ashamed to admit that I often wondered about my friend and his priorities. In the middle of my pondering about my colleague, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

I looked around, paying extra attention to the corners as I headed for the closet. There was no point in looking under the bed; it was too close to the ground for any grown man to be hiding underneath. Before I moved to open the closet door, I turned back to Will, nodding to signal to him to be ready for whatever may be waiting, if anything at all, and I was met with a face of utter resolve. This was the William Birkin that his family needed. Gun still raised, I used my free hand to turn the knob of the closet door, pulling slightly yet still receiving a creak despite my efforts. I'd wanted to throw open the closet door, but if this supposed visitor to Sherry was hiding here, it would be unwise to make such a bold move with the combatively-inexperienced William. So, I settled for the long, drawn-out wail from the hinges and painstakingly slow reveal.

Nothing. No one. The cautious fear that had motivated me to check in the first place was now replaced with a figurative dunce cap. True, I worried for Sherry like she was my own, but this nerve-wracking, goose chase had all been for naught. Still, I was sure that she had to at least have had a nightmare; this couldn't have been a complete fabrication. Perhaps she'd seen the shadows that skulked in the underground and coupled that with watching too much television. Never would she intentionally rally her guardians into an overprotective frenzy, would she? I wouldn't have asked that question had I not been aware of the unintentional neglect from her parents due to an unfair and overburdening work schedule.

Could I pretend that I had no part in said neglect though? Vexation and shame both taking hold, I lowered my gun and turned back to my colleague, opting to walk away wordlessly. Enough had been said here tonight.

When I arrived, Al seemed happy to see me. Yes, happy, in his own stoic and reserved way that is. We'd talked, laughed, and skirted around the specifics of Amanda's party, but never did we seem to be capable of settling on a serious subject. There were no talks of Chris, my new habit -that I could get away with- of skipping classes, and more importantly, no talks of his healing progress. Finally, though, in the middle of a commercial break during a news show, I turned to face him on the couch, resting my elbow on the back and my head in my hand. "So, is Spencer pretending that he never promised an open house for Thanksgiving?"

Surprisingly his tone didn't shift, and his mood remained the same as it had been when we were laughing about less serious topics. "I haven't heard much about it."

"Tell me there's no Umbrella Christmas party," I playfully pleaded, throwing my head back in mock exasperation.

"Not that I'm aware of." With a grin, he shifted gears, "How are you?" He always asked that, but I appreciated it so much.

Remembering that I'd managed to sleep through the night until he texted me, I happily replied, "You're noticing that I'm not asleep right?"

With a pleased grin, he replied, "I may have noticed that bit."

Without hesitation or prompting, yet with a great sense of relief, I closed my eyes as I beamed happily. "It's like last night took everything out of me, but at the same time, it gave me a sense of normalcy. I was so exhausted, but in a good way, and not because I was exhausted from not sleeping. I came here thinking I'd need to sleep more, but I'd rather stay awake right now." Oops. Sure, that I was blushing, I tousled my hair to hide my cheeks just a bit. Once again, I was crossing into that dangerous territory of flirtation, and there was a very likely possibility that he'd begin to reciprocate with more sincerity than he had in the past. Harmless would only remain harmless for so long. Yet did I want it to remain harmless? I was being pulled into the realm of possibilities once more where I envisioned something taking place that could never be taken back… A chill descended upon me, and I shivered slightly. It was so subtle that he didn't notice.

Was it bad that I wanted him to kiss me right now? To lean forward as if we were the center characters of some idealistic love story where we were meant to be together, but something just kept us apart? In a love story, he would take me in his arms and hold me close as I gave the weakest resistance which was more a demonstration of coyness than rejection. I could never reject him, and dare I say that I just wanted to receive him at this moment? So here I was, left with a decision to make over whether or not to pursue this. As he stared into my eyes, I just knew that he was speaking to me, but all that I was able to focus on was his smile, the overwhelmingly perfect features of his face, and the body language that was foreign to all others except me. I nodded when it seemed appropriate and laughed every now and then, but all I could see was him moving toward me.

This can't just remain a daydream…

November 8th, 2014

Days passed by at times in which I was forced to wear this farce of a face. Eventually, I'd let my driver in on this secret, but for now, he was still proving his loyalty to me. I did not give up such information so easily, but eventually, he would have to know to protect himself. "Keep the car running," I ordered before he came to a stop.

As he pulled over in front of the alley, he asked, "Would you need assistance, Dr. Spencer?"

"No, Thomas." I was quite grateful that he didn't question me about the hours of our drive; he was not granted such privileged knowledge yet, but soon enough, he would know more. Slowly, I got out of the car and prepared for the trek down that cold, dark alleyway. With a deep breath, I started my walk, turning a corner and leaving the watchful eye of my thus far faithful chauffeur. It smelled like the end of the road down here, as though it was made with the expectation that this is where things come to die. It was filthy, littered with broken bottles, trash, and the rags that had been long abandoned by the unfortunate beggars who usually inhabited such places. In the distance, a siren blared, and denizens of the night began chattering and yelling. From a window above, I heard a baby cry out for a mother who probably didn't care. Someone else cackled loudly at an unheard amusement, and I wondered who could be awake at this time of night other than people like me.

Speaking of others, the stench of a junkie assaulted my nose before the sight of him did so to my eyes. As he stumbled closer, I couldn't help but detect the pungent odors of piss and sweat mingling with the stench of the alley. His face was dirty with the residue of his own making, more than likely a buildup from weeks of failing to bathe, and his matted hair mingled with the strands of his salt-and-pepper beard.

His mouth, which possessed probably only a dozen teeth -three of which were in the front- opened and closed as words but not a wretched odor failed to emit. Finally, he said, "Don't go that way, man. Please."

What had frightened him would not frighten me. Without regard to his warning, I attempted to continue the walk uninterrupted.

"Did ya' hear me?!" His warning had become frantic, yet my resolve was stronger than his fear. "Fine, but when she gets ya' I'll be there for that watch!"

Shaking my head, I merely ignored the junkie. He could've had the damned thing if he'd left out his intent to steal it. If only he knew why he was still stumbling about. Finally, the other car was in sight, but not a light was on, and the engine wasn't running. With a sigh, I neared the vehicle, failing to see through the windows due to the combination of tint and the lack of light from the night sky. Taking a chance, I opened the car door. The sight that had met me was gruesome, yet I somewhat expected this to be the outcome. The driver was slumped over towards the passenger seat, his face frozen in anguish and terror. Blood had pooled a bit in the leather seat, thick with the passage of time, but for how long I couldn't say. When I reached over to check the temperature of the body, I heard a deep, prolonged growl that had come from the back seat. Ignoring the warning, I peered around the head of the corpse and was met with nothing but darkness.

The growl started again, deeper and angrier in its tone than previously, until finally, I saw a small, pale hand reach around the head of the passenger's seat. As the grip visibly tightened, my expectations were met as she emerged feral and covered in the driver's blood. Crimson stains smeared across her face, pale with self-inflicted starvation that spanned centuries. She was territorial over these leftovers that she had no intention of finishing.

I stepped back from the door, "Let's get some color into you." I'd never seen her this pallor before, not even in the final days before her isolation. If she followed my recommendations, she'd be back to medium tan skin in no time. The golden goddess that the world once knew.

As she crawled over the body and out of the car, I noticed that a thin, black slip hung from her near-skeletal form. Bare-footed, she took her first step into this century, flinching at the feel of the rough concrete against the soles of her feet. It was a harsh world, but she could be crueler than anything in this time could prove to be. "Et factus est senex," she rasped.

"I know," I replied, taking hold of her hand as I escorted her down the alley. At this moment, the world would change for the better. They would see.