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Death Becomes Her Author: White
Star 2 Written for the We Invented The Remix... Redux challenge. If anyone, I would blame whoever wrote this story first. (Which, by the way. CGB. She deserves all the love. Because I said so.) Please direct all the love to her and all the monetary rewards to me. She runs, circular steps. Barefoot, the undergarment refusing to move along with her dress. Nearly falling. In front of her, there's the enemy and she runs, stake in her hand. Behind her, there's more of them, and she runs for her life. The stone walls don't even seem stone anymore as they pass her by, one torch, then another. Finally she stops and grabs one. She throws it behind her and hears a scream. She keeps running, faster this time. In front of her, they're further away. Behind her, they're angry. She steps on something sharp, maybe a splinter of wood. She limps down two steps, hops on one foot down two more. She tries not to be slowed down by pain. From behind, arms grab her. More than two. She struggles until her neck breaks. She kicks and punches, and when she runs out of those, she scratches and bites. They're in a circle around her on the cotton field, and in a quick glance she counts eight of them. One approaching. Nine. She knew some of them, some of them she never saw before. And one was the master's son. If she isn't dead and he isn't dust, she will surely get herself a lashing. She turns around, slowly, one complete circle, waiting for one of them to make the first move. She's going to die. That's the last thing on her mind as teeth sink into her throat. She's still fighting, despite the bodies at her feet. There's blood everywhere, blood on graffittied walls. She kicks the man in front of her halfway across the alley. He charges at her, fangs and knife bared. She jumps, somersaults over him. She was a gymnast when she was young. She lands softly, knees bent, ready to charge. Her face is to his back, and he does the unexpected. He thrashes the knife backwards and lets it go. It takes her a fraction of a second to realize that it isn't clattering to the ground because it's in her gut. He turns around then, and smiles. Her back meets the wall, and he's upon her. Sweating, nearly screaming, CJ woke up. * * * Still tired and somewhat confused, she swiped her card through the clock at the entrance. It buzzed for "failed" the first three times. Finally the tiny light turned green and she walked right into Josh. "You're late," he said. "I know. I had to walk." "Car broke down?" he asked and she wondered why he was so perky so early in the morning. "Not really. My ignition key broke." He stopped behind her and she turned around to face him. "Did you beat it with a hammer or something?" "I just kind of--" she made a turning motion with her right wrist. "I just turned it and it snapped." He looked at her with one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other and she left him to try and catch up as she went straight for Leo's office. Sam was already there and when she got inside she saw Toby was seated on the couch. "What are we doing today?" she asked after good-mornings were muttered and not a single comment about her being late. "Budget meetings," Sam said. "What am I supposed to brief the press about, then?" Leo looked from Sam to Toby. "Budget meetings." She sat down next to Toby. "Sam," Leo continued, "You're talking to Fitzwallace today. Josh, Toby, there's a few guys from the hill here to see you." "Dressed all in blue?" Josh piped up from the doorway. "Don't even hope. Have a good day." She rose up to leave with the rest of them. "CJ, stay for a second." She stopped where she was and turned around slowly. Leo was already standing, one hand on the door to the oval office. He pushed it open. The President was sitting at his desk. She followed Leo into the Oval Office and something in the back of her mind told her it could not be good. She took her regular place up in front of the desk and, looking to either side, realized no one else was there. She was rarely in the Oval Office alone. "Strange things have been happening to you lately, haven't they?" The President asked gravely. "Sir?" she asked, confused. Her eyes followed Leo as he left the room, but she didn't move her head. "Strange things that you can't explain. But I can." He took off his glasses and folded them. He laid them on the desk with care and looked up at her purposefully. "You're the Chosen One." "Sir?" He nodded, as if to confirm that he was serious. "And I'm to be your watcher." "I don't understand." He moved around the desk and for some reason it wasn't so presidential of him, and a lot more fatherly. Well, not quite fatherly but something else that was similar. "Sit down, Claudia-Jean." He gestured at one of the yellow chairs and sat down in the other. Obediently, she sat. "Let me tell you a story," he started, and it was something that produced silent groans from the staff most days. But she was confused and intrigued at once, so she crossed one long leg over the other and listened. "When I was at the London School of Economics, it was fairly well known that I was 'The American' and that I'd studied theology. This set me apart a lot of the times, a lot more than the few other Americans there. And it made a certain group that resided in London approach me and offer me a place among them. "That group was - and still is - called the Watcher's Council. They sat me down and explained to me that everything I'd heard about the legend of vampires was all true, and that they were interested in recruiting me as a force in their fight against those vampires. "Honestly, I didn't understand what they wanted with me, I was just an Economist. And when I told them I was not staying in England they said they'd be in touch with me. They contacted me again a few months ago." He stopped and it took CJ a moment to realize he was studying her confused expression. "With all due respect, sir, I don't understand... what does this have to do with me?" "The Watchers don't fight the vampires by themselves, though that has been known to happen occasionally. The Watchers Council is a mechanism of support built to stand behind a single girl, The Slayer. This is a girl possessing supernatural powers so that she may fight the vampires - and the occasional demon. Watchers are assigned to look after girls who are marked with potential to become the Slayer, to train them before they are chosen, and to train the Slayer herself once she steps into the role. Once the Slayer dies, a new one is chosen, usually from one of the girls that had been identified. "Few manage to go undetected until the moment they are Chosen. None have ever reached your age." She thumped her finger on her knee trying to find words. "My age? Me? You mean--" "Last month I received word from the Council that they were searching for more potential candidates and came across one in Washington DC. They weren't sure, but I had my suspicions." CJ fidgeted in her seat. "One week ago the Slayer was killed and a new one was called." "This doesn't make sense," was all she had left in her to say. The President smiled, and it felt a little condescending. "I've been told that's what a lot of them, the ones old enough to understand, say at first." "Old enough?" "The average age for slayers is about fifteen years old. The council identifies most candidates in their early teens and sometimes earlier." "I see." "The situation, as it is, is problematic. There's barely any time to be afforded for training, much less patrolling and slaying. But we'll have to make due, finally clear up this city." "There are vampires in Washington?" she barely recognized the tone of shock in her voice. She was still a little stunned. "Yeah. Most of them Republican." Then there was an awkward silence and she felt the edge of the chair's armrest with her finger. He looked at her, waiting for more questions, waiting for anything she might say. "So," she said the only thing that came to mind. "I have superpowers?" He laughed. * * * In her purse, hidden under a few loose tissues and her wallet, was a wooden stake. Wooden was good, the metal detectors didn't fuss when she walked through. The President, one hand around Mrs. Bartlet, was one step behind her. "Look around. Try and find them." "How do you know they're here?" she asked. "Hearsay, rumor, instinct." She toured the crowd with her eyes. "You need to develop that instinct." Here gaze froze on Congressman Ritchie. She wasn't sure why, but she was certain. She whispered, "Him." "You think?" Came the reply from over her shoulder. She nodded once, sharply. "He's the governor of Florida's brother." "That doesn't make him any more human." Ritchie sipped champagne and wrapped one arm tighter around the young blonde beside him. "How do you know?" The President asked. "I don't know," she said. It would have been of no use to try and say anything else. "Not good enough," he said. The response gave her an instant surge of shame; she'd failed him. "If you're not sure, someone innocent could get hurt." She looked closer, strained her eyes. And she kept coming back to his hands, gently touring the blonde's body. She was wearing a silver cross on a long chain. "The girl with him. He's touched her more or less everywhere but he's avoided the cross consistently. He's paying a lot of attention to it." "So what do you want to do about it?" The question still rang in her head as she walked up slowly, and with every step it felt more as if things were out of her hands. Taken care of by an instinct that she didn't even know she had. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Congressman Ritchie?" He turned to her slowly. His hand drifted further than he'd intended and touched the crucifix on the silver chain, and he pulled his hand back, trying to make it not at all visible. She was almost certain she smelled just a little bit of smoke. Now she was sure. "Congressman, could I have a moment of your time?" He turned shot an apologetic grin to the girl and turned his head back to her, eyes focused elsewhere. "Is this about the budget for my thing?" he asked in a whisper. "Can we talk about it privately?" she gestured at the girl. He shrugged and released her from his grasp. She seemed almost relieved. CJ made her way through the crowd of people, with Ritchie at her back, too close. She couldn't feel his breath on her shoulder. That, she had to remind herself, was because he no longer breathed. They made their way outside. It was a cold night and the courtyard was empty. He walked beside her, his eyes fixed on her. It made her want to shudder, that way he was looking at her. Like she was food. They stopped behind a row of tall shrubs in white clay pots. They both had a reason to avoid being seen. She had to convince herself she was still determined. That she wasn't afraid enough to turn around, even though she was certain she was. He took a step toward her and she swung her arm at his face. He staggered sideways with the force of the blow, and came up with his face changed. There were lumps instead of his eyebrows, strange new ridges to his face. He came at her with sharp fangs sticking out of his mouth. Her purse was already on the ground, the wooden stake in her hand. She grabbed his collar in her free hand. He threw up an arm her grip of the shirt broke. There was a sound of fabric tearing. He shoved, and she felt her feet leave the ground before she crashed again. He came at her, running, teeth bared. She watched, afraid to blink, as his form got bigger, closer. She staggered back, cursing herself for having worn a dress. She managed to get to her feet by the time he got to her, and he ran right into the stake. She waited for the cloud of dust that was supposed to follow but all that she got was a scream of pain. She'd missed the heart. She removed the stake and plunged it into the chest of the shocked congressman, and this time she was surrounded in a cloud of brown dust. It smelled of garlic. Breathing heavily, more from shock than from effort, she sat down, settled her back against one of the white clay pots. She was covered in dust, her dress had been dragged on the ground. She didn't know if it had torn. There was a sound, a faint footstep, and she looked up sharply. Josh was standing there, probably as much in shock as she was. She stretched, reached for her purse. She placed the stake back in it and dusted herself. Josh's eyes followed her questioningly as she stood. "He was a vampire," she said softly, and it didn't make him look any less baffled. * * * In her office it was a little warmer, but the air was dry and the dust still clung to her hair. She sat in her chair, arms slumped over the armrests, her wrists dangling limply. Josh sat on the couch and stared and she spoke slowly about vampire myths, about vampire reality. Talking about it, she reasoned with herself, would make it easier to accept. And she could trust Josh not to tell a soul. "What's going on?" Sam poked his head through the door. "CJ's a vampire slayer," Josh answered without even looking up. "Josh!" she yelled and it nearly drowned Sam's "A what?" For a second, Josh seemed a little better. A little perky. "What?" he shrugged his shoulders with a tiny smile. "Did I leave out the part where this is a secret?" "Actually, you did." She glared at him. Sam let himself in and sat down next to Josh. "From the top," she half-sighed and counted on her fingers as she made each point. "There are vampires." One. "Some of them live in Washington DC." Two. "Most of them are Republicans," Josh chimed in. "Congress?" Sam shot back and Josh nodded. "Makes sense." "And CJ got chosen by some higher force and some big organization to run around and kill them." "Josh!" A one shouldered shrug and half a smirk. "That's it, though, isn't it?" The door opened before she could think of a clever reply. Leo, unsurprisingly there at one in the morning, looked directly at her. "I heard you did a good job today. The President said you should be proud." She looked quickly from Josh to Sam. "And he said to bring a comfortable change of clothes tomorrow because you're going patrolling in Arlington after work." "The cemetery?" Josh managed to let out, "Some graveyard action," before choking on laughter. "You should take them," Leo added. "A little field trip." It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, to realize. "You know?" she asked, a tone of surprise inherent. "I'm the Chief of Staff," he said and closed the door. Sam frowned and looked at Josh. She looked at him but there was nothing to see, he was still staring past her with a rather stunned look. "This is all you're doing?" Sam asked and the breaking of the silence was sudden. It was followed by a phone ringing on Carol's desk, barely audible through the closed door. "What?" she asked, her head snapping back to Sam. Sam was still looking at Josh. "Is that all you're doing? This entire organization? Killing them one at a time?" She relaxed her shoulders into the soft chair. "I don't know. I guess so." "It's not enough." No one said anything. "We should do something better. Something bigger." Josh turned to him, then to her with astonishment. "Something bigger?" And then his tone turned to mocking. "What do you want to do, tax them?" * * * "It's dark here," Sam said. "It's not that dark," Josh objected and CJ nearly laughed at the obvious attempt to prove his masculinity to no one in particular. She was tempted to sneak up behind him and yell "boo!" just for the amusement she'd get from the effect. Instead she shushed Josh and returned her eyes to the President, who was walking first. Behind them, two secret service agents walked, shadowing their every step. She searched her mind to remember when was the last time she'd seen either of them in daylight. The President turned around, took another step backwards before he came to a stop. "You two," he pointed at the agents as if reading her mind. "Wait here." "But, sir." "Trust me when I say it's a lot more dangerous for you here than it is for me." When they hesitated, Josh said, "You heard him." But he said it in with an expression that suggested he didn't agree. The two men looked at each other in confusion, and finally retreated back toward the car. CJ was the first to keep walking. "I've been thinking a lot about this 'taxing them' thing," she said. Behind her, Josh said, "I was kidding about that." "I know," she said, and stepped in line with The President, looked at him. "But I've given it a lot of thought since then and it could work. We can't tax vampires, per se, but we can tax them for what they do." "Suck the blood of the living?" She put one foot in front of the other on the narrow path, feeling very, very young all of a sudden. It was dark and all she could see in front of her was the white rectangles coming out of the ground. There was no sound but the wind. "No," she finally said. "Most of them don't try so hard as the ones in Washington to be a part of high society which forces them to be awake during the day, but they don't live as crudely as the ones in notorious places like Sunnydale." Everyone's faces but the President's drew a blank and she turned back to watching the path before her. "Most of them live in regular houses and apartments, even hold a job. That's what we can tax." "Being a night-dweller?" Sam asked. "The least it would do is flush out some of the potential vampires around here when they speak up in strong opposition instead of dismissing it as silly." "After that, we could put some of the White House's research power behind it," Sam said, a little too excited. "Find out who's been out of the sunlight too long." She would have said something, but just then Josh cried out, "Vampire!" and she was knocked to the ground. She let out a grunt and opened her eyes to see the lumpy forehead inches from her face, the eyes glowing. Her heart pounded into her ears. Another grunt escaped when her foot met his chest and pushed as hard as she could. She looked up to see him on his back yards away. He rolled backwards to his feet and she pushed herself up. The stake was in the back pocket of her jeans. She took it out and charged with it. Her fists were met by his, her kicks seemed to always land in his hand or in the air over his shoulder. He caught her with a punch in the stomach and she doubled over. Josh yelled her name. She tried to recover, but his arms were already around her throat and they were cold. She saw his head hover by her neck, fangs bared, but there was no warmth from his breath. He was stronger than her, and she was going to lose. And then, just before she closed her eyes, preparing for the wincing pain or worse, for death, he disappeared in a cloud of dust that was picked up by the wind. She turned around, half in panic, and there was another vampire face in front of her. She raised her arm to plunge the stake into his heart, but it was no longer in her hand. She stared at the face a while longer. He didn't move. And then, behind the lumps and fangs, familiar features began to grab her attention. And a familiar look in her eyes. "Toby?" she asked in a nearly silent whisper. He dropped the stake he'd been holding, and it bounced twice before rolling down the path toward the grass. Without a word, he turned around and walked away. * * * The door to Toby's office was open, and inside she could see the blinds were shut. She walked into the communications bullpen, slow steps, trying to seem careless or busy or both. Toby was at his desk with the lamp on. She took a deep breath and went in. "Three days ago Congressman Reilly comes up with one of the silliest tax proposals I've ever heard," he started before she even got to the doorway. She stood, leaning against the doorjamb, and waited for him to look up. "And on the same day, the White House steps up to support it." "That wasn't my call," she lied. "Mine, either," he said. "Which is odd, because these are things I usually at least get consulted about." "And it makes you wonder, what does George Reilly know that we don't?" she played along. "No," he finally looked up at her. She took it as a sign to walk in, but never got more than a few steps past the door. "It makes me wonder who really authored that bill." "What?" "This is a Democrat from Illinois who had to work very hard to get elected in a previously Republican district. He's hardly supported any new taxes, much less suggested one by himself. Mass protests like the one they're going to hold tonight should have had him backing down or whimpering under the table. He's sponsoring this because someone asked him to." She felt pierced by his look. He probably wasn't accusing her, just wondering. Still, she felt accused and had nothing to do but turn to offense. She shut the door behind her. "You owe me an explanation." "About?" "Four nights ago. A stake and a dead vampire." "Yes, that." He flipped the folded back papers over the yellow paper pad and tossed it aside. "Yes, that." He said nothing and she added, "You're..." "An evil blood-sucking fiend?" "Undead." "I think I prefer mortally-challenged." "I think you should explain." "Why I haven't sucked anyone's blood yet?" She felt just a little bit of relief - he hadn't. At least he claimed he hadn't. "Everything." "It's a long story," he said. She sat down on his couch. "I have time." He stood up, leaned on his desk. "I'm not sure I know where to start." "When? How?" She wanted to know everything. Not just from him, from everyone. She wanted to know if anyone else had seen him that night. As best as she could tell, Josh and Sam had seen nothing, neither had The President. She hadn't said a word. She wanted to know if anyone knew. If Andy knew. "A few months ago," he said. "Maybe a month before Rosslyn. One of Senator Walters' aides asked to meet me for a drink, to discuss judicial appointees. She grabbed me in the alley outside the bar." "You were out with the flu for two weeks," she remembered. "I was out," he paused, balanced his weight with one hand on the chair and one on the desk, searching for the right word. "Hunting." "You killed people?" she asked, and it was a straightforward question. No shock, no apprehension. Five days and she was already a hardened professional. He shrugged. "I had to eat," he said in a tone too casual to be true. His eyes toured the floor. She wondered if he knew he was terrible at trying to seem at ease. "And it's not as if I could stop." Her fist clenched. She hadn't seen him in such pain, in such an attempt to conceal it, since Andy had left. "How did you stop?" she asked. Wondered if she assumed too quickly that he had. "Mandy." He paused and she thought. They hadn't heard from her since she left, since before Rosslyn. Maybe she was dead. He could have killed her. "She came to see me before she left. She said she knew. She said she was going to do something about it." She only half-listened when he talked about waking up the next night in agony, tormented by what he'd done. About how he'd gone back to work, helpless and afraid. He mentioned souls. He said something about a curse. Her finger made a swinging motion between her upper and lower lip, and she caught herself and stopped when he said, "CJ." "I don't know what to make of it," she said. And again silence, long and dark. The lamp light was too dim for the middle of the day. "You had your share of secrets, too," he said. "I only just found out myself," she confessed. He was on her side, she reasoned. He was still Toby. He'd saved her life. "You told Josh and Sam and The President." "It was a need-to-know situation," she said and hoped it sounded just like he had in the past. He'd kept things from her, things at work. She never missed a chance to remind him that, maybe, he still didn't trust her. "Since when is Sam a need-to-know and I'm not?" The indignation was that of a friend. It nearly made her smile. Still, she said, "Since you're necking with Republicans and I'm stuck with the duty to make my fights with them hand-to-hand." She inhaled a sharp breath, it sounded like a sniffle. "I have work to do. I should go." She stopped at the door and turned to him. "Thank you," she said. "You saved my life that night." He smiled, something it had been ages since she'd seen him do. "You're welcome." * * * CJ pushed down on some of the blinds and peered outside through the gap. "There's more of them" she said. "Is the Billy Idol guy still holding the megaphone?" Josh asked. "Because he looks like the rabble-rousing type to me. Any minute and he'll storm the fence." "The President said the Secret Service is trying to identify him, maybe a picture from when he was alive." "God knows how long ago that was," she thought out loud. "Are you even sure he's a vampire?" Josh asked. "I mean, how can you be sure?" "He got there first," she explained. "And it was twenty minutes after sundown. They've been there for four hours and he never stopped for food or drink. Never so much as a break. And it's freezing out there." Josh nodded. "Also, there's a little instinct about it." The voice came from behind them. Josh and Sam sprang to their feet as soon as they heard it. CJ, still looking out the window, turned around. "Keep your seats," he said, and added a gesture of his hand. "I called the watcher's council," The President said directly to CJ. Sam and Josh lowered themselves back into their seats. "They faxed over their file on him." He handed her a manilla folder. "These are the first thirty pages." "First *thirty*?" Josh asked. "He's been a vampire for a hundred and twenty years, and trouble wherever he went." "And now he's protesting fifty feet from our front yard." CJ pushed down on the blinds again. There were even more of them now, more signs. And the night was still young. "We got a few hundred of them in one place," Sam said. "What should we do with them now?" "We could run into Lafayette park with a bunch of stakes and a crossbow and hope it works." "If we make it out alive," Sam said. CJ released her hand and let the blinds pop back into shape with the greatest amount of noise. She wondered if anyone was going to ask her. "Some of them might not be vampires," she pointed out a worst-case scenario. "Well, they're still Republicans," Josh said. Everyone glared at him. He shrugged. "We could hose them down with holy water, then," CJ offered. "It would only hurt vampires, and innocent bystanders will be nothing more than wet." "Where are you going to get that much holy water?" The President asked. "Good point," Sam muttered. "And good odds," added The President, "That innocent bystanders aren't going to be alive very long in that group." He paused. "They're a large static mob." Behind him, in the doorway, Toby stepped in, soft steps, barely audible. "Why not just wait until the sun rises?" he said. She smiled. Josh looked up. "Is this just an open party?" "They don't intend to go away until they get attention. It's getting late and they're engrossed. So don't surround them with police or send someone out to talk to them. Just leave them there. Maybe take some surveillance photos in case someone does escape. Sun will come up sooner or later and they're in an open area with nowhere to run." "They're dust," she summed it up. "You think?" The President said. "I'm fairly certain," Toby said. She smiled and added, "Call it instinct." "Very well," The President took a step back toward the door. Sam and Josh scrambled to their feet. "Leave them be. I'll have a word or two with the Council about what they'd like to do with this Spike." He left, and Toby was the next out the door. "Excuse me a minute, guys," she said and walked out after him. "Toby," she called out in a whisper, and it seemed to her that, like that night, he wouldn't turn around. But he did, and it made her smile, even though there were a few hundred vampires parked out fifty feet from the front lawn. She walked up to him, slow steps at one thirty in the morning, sore muscles, biting her lip with a passing fantasy. He smiled back. "Going home?" she asked. He nodded. "Should do it now while it's safe. I have the day off tomorrow." "You want me to walk you?" she asked, and saw the playful glint from her eyes reflected in his. It left her nearly breathless to think that he couldn't see himself in hers. "It could be a dangerous town this time of night." * * * His building was right there, too short a walk to her taste. All of it spent in silence. Toby had a special kind of silence, and it stuck to her when she was around him. His building was right there, and she might have had to say good night if there hadn't been a movement in the shadow, and both of them had tensed, ready to fight. Her first thought was that it was someone trying to kill them. Someone must have known, but about him or her, she had no idea. She signaled, eyes and tilt of her head, for them to make front door. His silence was still around her, stopping her from saying it, from saying anything. One pace at a time, even in distance, getting faster with each one, they almost got to the building. She told herself that having to fight with her back to the wall was not comforting. And then shadows shifted again and he lunged with a growl, came up empty handed. She tugged on the door and it opened. His apartment was on the first floor, the second door to the left. He was behind her, hand floating near her waist. It was cold inside the building, and his hand was cold. Just a foot from the door, she turned and kissed him. She ran out of air and didn't care, ran out of words and thoughts. Only when she tasted blood she bothered to pull back, to look. His features were all lumps, demonic. It had made her gasp then, she seemed to remember. Now it made her stare. She grabbed his tie, twisted it around her hand. He didn't resist when she drew him close again. She kissed him, and his tongue searched her mouth for the wound. He tasted her blood, tasted her. She pried the key to the apartment out of his hand. His hands didn't leave her waist when she turned around to open the door. It swung in and she took a step inside, waiting for him to follow. Instead, he pulled her back to him, strong, too confident. She heard a growl. She felt the sharp pain in her neck. She gasped, arched her back, tried to break free. But his fangs stayed and the feeling of suction got stronger and stronger. He stopped, suddenly, and she turned around, her hand on her neck. She wasn't afraid, just a startled. He looked at her with remorse, and she was about to say that there's no need. She blinked, and in that split-second, he was back to himself, the same face she knew. She tugged on his hand, and when he finally yielded, took another step inside, she pinned him to the wall. His hand stroked the wound on her neck lightly, smearing the blood. She pressed her lips to his, and he opened his mouth slightly. She bit down on his lower lip, and he let out a moan, intermingled pain and pleasure. He reached out a hand to unbutton her pants. They made their way to the bedroom in shoves, shedding clothes, dripping blood. She was always on the verge of a laugh that never quite came out, just tickled her from the inside. She shoved him onto the bed and he pulled her on top of him, and licked the thin trail of blood that spilled across her breast. She sank her teeth into his neck. They clawed and scraped and bit. She tasted blood, too. Love and war at the same time, she thought. That's what they were making. She lay in his arms later, staring at the light that formed stripes on the floor, seeping in despite the closed blinds and the curtains. She nibbled on his neck and he moaned, half asleep. "It's late," she whispered. "I should go." He tightened his grip on her waist. "You know," he said. "They say there was one like me before. With a soul." "When?" "I don't know. In Los Angeles. When there was already a Los Angeles." "What happened to him?" Toby ran his free hand up and down her back. He still hugged her as tightly. "A lot." She smiled and rolled sideways, and his arm rolled out with her and let her out. She looked at the traces of sun coming from outside and sighed. She stayed right where she was. * * * Leo sat back in his chair and took off his glasses. Nothing was going to stop this man. And at eight in the morning, he was already going on and on. This man was waiting for him already when he walked in, and he had a feeling that, absent a national emergency, this meeting will take him all day long. He had a suspicion he knew why. "Congressman," he said once, then once more, and the man still talked. "Walter," he finally said in a voice that was half-pleading, and finally the Congressman stopped. "Listen," Leo told him, "It's not that I don't care. Really. And I will take you into consideration. And the appropriations committee will take you into consideration." He stood up, and opened the top drawer of his desk just slightly. "But know this." The Congressman stood up, possibly a gesture of respect, possibly already preparing to protest. Leo leaned closer and closer, and the Congressman leaned in, ready to hear a secret or anything more important than, well, what Leo was actually about to say. Leo reached inside an open drawer, and in a quick motion, not saying a thing, drove a wooden stake into the man's heart. He sat back down into his chair as Congressman Robins, with a shocked expression on his face, exploded into a pile of dust. He placed the stake back in the drawer and closed it. "Margaret!" he yelled. "Can you get someone to clean up in here? It's full of dust and I actually have to take meetings in here today!" The door opened, and Margaret stuck her head in. "Right away," she said. The End Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their owners/creators/copyright holders. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights. |
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