Bleed
Like Me.
DISCLAIMER:
pokemon and all of its trademarked products and characters are owned by
Nintendo, Game Freak and their affiliates, not me. If they were owned by me,
I’d be filthy rich, and certainly wouldn’t have to resort to doing all the house
work for the occasional FullMetal Alchemist or Kenshin DVD. (I know I really should save my money, but dammit,
anime is so addictive!)
PART ONE
The
girl tried not to look behind as she walked, although her pace sped up.
Someone
was following her, that she was sure of.
She
could hear their footsteps, could hear their muffled sniggers.
Still,
she didn’t look back, even as she broke into a run.
Her
hand went to the pokéball at her belt, and she was just about to call out her
Charmeleon when-
“Absooooool!”
A
howl in front made her stop, and as the red eyes of the pokémon in front
gleamed, she swallowed, her flight forgotten.
The
white-furred disaster pokemon licked its chops, dirty teeth wet and gleaming in
the dull light of the street-lamp.
Tendrils
of saliva hit the rough pavement with a wet splat.
So
focused was she on the vicious pokemon in front of her, she forgot the man who
had been chasing her.
She
didn’t remember until she felt his hands on her shoulders, and his warm breath
on her neck.
“You
shouldn’t have stopped.”
“-report that another victim
has been found dead in the alleys surrounding the merchant suburbs of Indigo
city. The victim – a young woman- was unable to be identified by the police as
her face was partially gnawed off. Police suspect that the killer is a renegade
pokemon, and investigations are continuing. In other news-”
“Turn
that off Max. Don’t be morbid.” Max scowled, and ignored the older man.
Brock,
in the kitchen, frowned as he turned back to cleaning the bench. May, who’d
been sitting quietly in the kitchen, shook her head.
“You
shouldn’t tell him off Brock. He’s only looking for news on Ash.”
“-should be mainly fine with
moderate showers, with a north-westerly wind rising in the afternoon-”
Brock
smiled.
“Ash
has been missing for ten years. If there was any news on him, no doubt we’d
read about it in the newspaper. Your little brother-” Max snorted at the use of
the diminutive “-has no use for the news that the government feeds us. And even
if he is eighteen, he should be in bed this time of night.”
He
forestalled Max’s protests by raising a hand.
“This
is my house. While you are here, you will obey my rules. Understood?”
Max
grimaced, but nodded.
“Good.
It’s a quarter past ten. You need sleep, especially if you want to take my sister
out tomorrow night. You’ll need all the rest you can get, believe me.”
Max
smiled sheepishly, and stretched as he headed up the stairs.
“Night
sis,” he called.
“Night
little bro. Hey Brock?”
“Hm?”
“Do
you know when Misty’ll be back?”
Brock
shrugged.
“Ever
since Ash went, she’s been erratic in her visits. She’ll come when she’s ready.
You should be in bed, too.”
May
grinned.
“Don’t
try to baby me, Brock Harrison. I’ll go to bed when I feel like it.”
“Very
well. Just don’t make too much noise.” Brock brushed past her, flicking off the
light switch. May, who’d been spooked by the news report, squealed, and ran up
the stairs past Brock.
Brock
laughed, and shook his head, making his way to his room.
“You
should learn to control yourself.”
Mitch
ignored the voice, and brushed past the single shadow that was blocking the
entrance to the night club.
An
arm was flung out, and thumped against his chest.
“Do
it again, and get caught, and the leader will have your head decorating the
walls.”
Mitch
snarled at the shadow who dared to block his path.
Stupid runt! I’m a
full-blooded feeder, how dare he talk back to me!
The
shadow didn’t move, but continued to speak in that low, husky voice.
“If
the leader does not want your head, I will take it. It might be useful as a
doorstop. Do not tempt me to remove you. There are enough of us to please the
leader, and surely she will not notice if such an insignificant feeder
disappears.”
Again
Mitch snarled, and tried to shove the shadow out of the way. That soft, shadowy
voice was annoying him.
So
what if he didn’t feed when it was his turn. He was hungry, dammit, and that
meat’s blood hadn’t been enough to sate him...
For
a moment he considered attacking the shadow, then thought against it.
Feeder
didn’t drain feeder.
It
was against the rules.
The
obstacle was removed, and once more the shadow was simply that: a shadow.
Mitch
shuddered, and headed inside.
Even
if that one was a feeder, he was a bit... strange.
“Yes,
I’ll be home by Sunday Brock.” Misty finished shoving her clothes into her
knapsack, and began the frantic search for shoes. “Uh-huh. No, I don’t need you
to- ha, okay, if you want to make a special dinner all for me you’re welcome
to. How’s Max? Yeah?” Misty listened to the detailed discussion of Max’s love
life as she tugged on a shoe, flopping back onto the hotel bed. “Wow, sounds
like a soap-opera. How’s May?” Misty struggled to get the other shoe on a foot
that suddenly seemed too big. “Well, as long as she got over it pretty quick.
Yeah, I heard about the new reports too. Scary stuff. How many’s that now?
Three? Remind me not to go out at night. And make sure May doesn’t try anything
stupid- yeah, I know that’ll be a bit hard.” Misty finally succeeded, and
flopped off the bed, slinging her knapsack on her shoulder. “Okay, yeah, I’ll
see you tomorrow night. Make sure you come and pick me up at the train station,
will you? Okay. See ya.” Misty clicked the phone off, and shoved it in the
pocket of her jeans.
Her
small blue mouse pokemon lazily opened one eye.
“C’mon
Marill. We gotta get going.”
The
small pokemon sighed, and leapt off of the bed, and hurried out the door Misty
held open.
Both
had a sense of quiet hurry, as both had seen the news reports last night and
neither wanted to wander around too late after dark.
Mitch
wiped the blood off his chin with a dirty sleeve. He knew it was dangerous –an
unauthorised attack always was- but it was the risk that made it taste so good.
He
licked the blood off his hands, and grinned at his Absol, who nuzzled through
the entrails of the meat, seeking the liver.
“Leave
it, Bone-breaker. We can’t hang around. There’s a couple more patrols then
there was last night.”
The
Absol grunted, and tore a chunk of flesh from the body, chewing it slowly and
with considerable relish. Unspeakable fluids dripped down its furred and bloody
chin.
“I’m
serious. We gotta go, someone’ll catch us if-”
“Too
late.”
Mitch
spun around, and saw nothing in the dark alley he’d dragged his kill into.
“I
did warn you.” Again, he whipped around, searching for the speaker in the
shadows.
“Perhaps
you misunderstood me. Still, the leader has granted me permission.”
Permission for what? thought Mitch.
“Pika,”
a soft voice whispered, and the Absol growled, fur standing on end. A sudden
golden blur of light, then a sickening crack, and a muffled thump.
“Pity.
I’m sure you won’t taste too good. But then, blood is blood.”
To
Mitch’s shock, a hand jerked out of no-where, and a hard arm circled his neck.
Warm
breath –saturated with the scent of blood- brushed the skin on his face.
“I
was going to use you as a doorstop, but when I’m finished, there won’t be
enough left.”
Mitch
tried to call for his Absol, but the disaster pokemon was already dead, his
skull split open and a foul soup of brain spilling onto the dirty ground. A
dark yellow shadow sat on the still-warm body and lapped at the pooling blood.
Mitch
–so shocked by his pokémon’s sudden, silent death- didn’t cry out as his throat
was torn by teeth sharp and hungry.
Saliva
mixed with the warm blood that splattered the pavement and alley walls as the
shadow began to feed.
Misty
stepped quickly through the dark streets. Every one knew that the night was a
dangerous place, especially with the spate of killings that had swept across
Misty
shuddered.
The
murders were steadily growing in their goriness, and Misty wouldn’t be
surprised if the next victim was found without a head.
“C’mon
Marill. The sooner we get to Brock’s the sooner we can get home and safe. It’s
not safe to be walking around Indigo at night.”
Her
pokemon chirruped an agreement.
True,
it was only seven thirty, but two murders had already been reported. Who knew
what would happen by midnight?
She
stepped quickly, her pace increasing to the point where she was half-walking,
half-jogging. Marill leapt from the ground, and up onto her shoulder.
Behind
her, she thought she heard footsteps.
She
kept walking, hoping that it wouldn’t be her body the Jenny’s found next,
headless and disembowelled.
The
shadow slipped through the dark alleys like he had been born to it. Beside him,
his pokemon leapt through puddles formed from the day’s rain, dark yellow fur
tarnished gold in the dim light.
Tarnished. That’s what we both
are. Tarnished beyond repair.
Normally,
such thoughts and melancholia wouldn’t set upon him this early in the night,
but the fool’s blood had been bitter and dirty.
Serves me right. Everyone
knows the blood of a feeder is tainted. Just like me, I suppose. At least there
will be no more killings tonight. Tomorrow though... that is a different
matter.
He
heard footsteps, and judging by the sound, they were a woman’s, fast and
panicked and trying not to show it.
He
cursed.
The fools are stupid enough
to attack in broad sight! I thought there was only one! Curses on all feeders!
It
was only as he sped up, and his pokémon’s leaping gait turned into a smooth
run, that he realised that he had cursed himself.
The
footsteps quickened, and Misty felt her own speed up accordingly.
She
didn’t know who was chasing, didn’t particularly want to know, but knew it
would be her doom if she looked back.
She
heard distant laughter, low, mocking and male.
Then,
the laughter of another, and the footsteps doubled.
Great, now there’s two of
them. Oh, if any gods are listening, I could really use some help right now!
“Marill,
Ice-Beam!”
The
chirrup from her pokemon and the sound of pavement cracking as it froze told
Misty the attack had hit.
Someone
screamed in rage, and the footsteps behind got faster.
Misty
broke into a run, feet pounding against rough gravel. She’d reached the harbour
now, and she knew if she kept running this way she’d be cornered. Up ahead, a
streetlight illuminated a corner and an abandoned warehouse.
Spurred
on by the fear pounding through her veins as fast as her heart could beat, she
decided to try to hide.
She
neared the corner, trying not to think about the insistent footsteps and
inhuman cries she heard behind her, and almost gasped in shock as a pair of
arms wrenched her into the thick, cloaking shadows.
She
almost gasped, but couldn’t, as there was the small matter of the man's hand
over her mouth, and the man's warm body pressed up against her own.
“I’m
not going to hurt you,” a soft, husky voice breathed in her ear. “I want the
same thing you do: safety. Stay here with me, and soon they will be gone.”
She
looked for her Marill, as the familiar weight on her shoulder was gone.
Instead, she saw a Pikachu, dark and dirty gold, its paws covering her pokémon’s
mouth as they crouched in the shadows.
She
couldn’t see the man behind her, but she could feel him. His heart beat as fast
as her own, hammering against his ribs and her back. His head rested just above
her own, her head fitting snugly into the space under his chin. He was strong,
she could feel the muscles in his arms, but she could also feel his ribs
through his ragged clothing.
Well, this is strange, thought Misty as
the pursuing footsteps slowed, and eventually stopped.
I bet he has no idea where I
went.
Unfortunately,
she was wrong.
He
couldn’t quite tell what had made him interfere, but perhaps it was the
desperation in her breathing as she ran. He’d snatched her from the street, and
into the safe shadows, hoping -there was something that he hadn’t done in a
long time- that her sudden disappearance would be unnoticed. Pikachu had
grabbed the woman’s Marill, and the small pokemon crouched beside him. She
hadn’t struggled when he’d grabbed her –he guessed she’d been too surprised-
and now she was quiet as they waited.
His
words seemed to have reassured her, and he knew she could feel his pounding
heart against her back.
Briefly,
as he became aware of the gurgle of the blood pounding through her veins, and
the sweet scent of her, he wondered whether he had not snatched her from death,
only to bring her to another way to die.
She
was so close to him, and so unresisting, he could have bitten her and she would
not have cried out.
But
then, targeting innocents was never his style.
I always preferred my meat
to try to bite back. The leader was right to call me a fool. But then, blood
always tastes best when spiced with danger.
He
knew that if she were a feeder –and there were many females out there- she
would have been dead by now.
But,
she wasn’t, and he felt strangely responsible for her safety.
Too little sleep and too
much blood has messed with my mind. She is no one I know, and should not be
important to me.
The
footsteps, which had previously halted, started again, and headed towards where
they were hiding.
He
felt, rather than heard the woman’s sharp intake of breath.
“Damn.”
He whispered, and drew her back further into the shadows.
“I
am sorry for this, but I have no other choice.”
His
teeth sunk into soft flesh.
When
Jake saw the meat disappear, he knew that someone had snatched her into the
alley.
He
slowed, and peered cautiously into the alley way.
Although
he couldn’t quite see through the shadows, his eyes would soon adjust.
He
heard muffled movement, and knew the female meat was not alone.
I hope it’s not that shadow.
The leader’s insane to keep a feeder to feast on others like himself. Feeder
don’t drain feeder. Everyone knows that.
His
eyes adjusted, he could just make out two figures.
“Gotcha,”
he hissed, flicking a torch onto the pair, hoping to blind, if not stun the
thieving feeder in the alley.
Instead,
the feeder blinked, and raised his head from a bloody shoulder.
The
woman was unconscious, slumped against the feeder as he lapped greedily at the
blood on her neck and shoulder. Her torn shirt exposed a glimpse of pale flesh,
and dark, sluggish blood dripping slowly down into the shadows of her clothing.
“She
my feed!” he snarled, and the thief snarled back, long teeth wet and bloody.
“Mine!”
he roared, and Jake decided that it probably wasn’t a good idea to challenge
this one.
He
knew blood-lust when he saw it.
“Mine!
My meat, mine! Get gone!” the thief snarled again, and from the shadows, a
Pikachu with the darkest eyes Jake had ever seen growled softly.
Jake,
having seen the madness in the eyes of the thief, fled.
There
was a feeder who had tasted the blood of another feeder, a feeder that preyed
on his own kind.
A
cannibal, insane, for everyone knew feeder blood was tainted, and drove you
mad.
Best
to find other prey this night.
Misty
had been shocked when she felt warm blood splatter her shoulder, and felt her
shirt torn, but she’d heard the whispered instructions in her ear.
“Stay
still, stay quiet. Close your eyes, and no matter what is said, no matter what
happens, do not open them.”
Misty
had done as she was told, and hastily stifled a gasp as she felt a smooth
tongue chase away the blood on her shoulder, the blood that wasn’t hers.
The
argument between the man holding her and the man chasing her had been fast and
harsh, and in some sort of dialect she didn’t understand, although she’d gotten
the gist of it.
The
other man wanted her, and the man who held her had claimed her for his own.
When
the other man had fled, the man holding her had let go, and spoken.
“You
can open your eyes.”
She
did, and turned to face her saviour, and saw nought but shadows.
“It
is best if you do not see me. It was my blood you felt, not yours. It is unsafe
for you to be alone like this, especially since you are here and unarmed. Your
Marill is strong, as are you –I felt the muscle beneath your skin when you
moved- and I have no doubt you can defend yourself well enough against both
human and pokemon, but you would not fair well against something that is
neither.”
She
squinted, and even though her eyesight had adjusted to the gloom of the alley,
she saw nothing.
“I
suggest you follow me. You will have to wait till morning to get where you were
going, as it is too dangerous now. At least they are not foolish enough to
attack in broad daylight, although I suspect the time will be soon that they
do. I will take you somewhere as safe as I can, considering the circumstances.
Come.”
Footsteps
echoed, and a soft chirrup from the Pikachu she had seen earlier told her which
way to go.
She
didn’t know if she could trust him, whoever her mysterious saviour was, but he
was better than the fate she had narrowly avoided. She hadn’t liked the term
‘meat’, and especially not when she had been referred to as someone’s ‘feed’.
Misty
shivered, and followed the moving shadow.
He
looked back occasionally to see if she was still following, and she was,
although the expression on her face was mixed fear and confusion.
She
must have realised that she had narrowly avoided becoming the third murder that
night.
“I
will not hurt you.” He said, and she looked vaguely in his direction.
She
flushed guiltily –even in the gloom from the dim streetlights he could see the
blush spread across her face- and tried to stutter a response.
“It
is a reasonable assumption. After all, ten minutes ago I was lapping blood from
your shoulder. The fact that it was mine is inconsequential.”
He
stopped and darted through the pillars of a run-down warehouse.
He’d
often thought that there were a lot of empty buildings around this area, and
considering what they were home to, he didn’t wonder why.
“You
will soon be able to sleep. I cannot do anything about the blood, I am afraid.
I cleaned as much off as I could, but there had to be some there to make him
believe you were bitten.”
She
seemed anxious as she followed him through the abandoned building, and up to
the office which he had made his nest.
Pikachu
snorted, and nudged the Marill to the door. She hadn’t been bitten, and he knew
that Pikachu could have easily broken her neck.
He
was pleased he had restrained from doing so, as Pikachu was prone to temper
tantrums when hungry.
The
room they reached was neat, if dark and bare. The only thing in it was a
mattress and a pile of blankets, and a mirror and sink off to one side in the
office’s small bathroom.
He
closed the door behind her, and she flinched.
“Sorry.”
She
shook her head.
“Don’t.
I should be thanking you. You saved my life.”
He
shrugged, not entirely sure he should be thanked when he had entertained the
notion –no matter how briefly- of killing her and feeding on her himself.
Her
Marill leapt immediately onto the mattress, and snuggled into the pile of
blankets.
They
were reasonably clean –he’d stolen them from a hotel only two nights before-
but he hoped they did not smell too much of his sweat.
She
looked embarrassed, and admonished the small pokemon before he stopped her.
“She
is tired, as are you. Sleep. I will not harm you. I have eaten already
tonight.”
Even if it was small –who
would’ve thought that such a big man would have so little blood- and
distasteful. I will not hurt you. I worked too hard to keep you alive to bother
killing you now.
She
hesitated when he said that, and there was fear in her otherwise pleasant voice
when she spoke.
“You’re
one of them, aren’t you?”
He
nodded.
“What
are you? Who are you? And why should I trust you?”
“You
should trust me for if I had wanted to hurt you, or keep you as mine, you would
either be dead or unconscious by now. What I am is a feeder. Who I am is
something neither important nor prudent for me to tell you. You might be the
one to report my name to the police, even if you were grateful for your life.”
She
yawned, and sank onto the mattress, pulling at her shoes.
“What’s
a feeder?” she asked sleepily as she fell onto the blankets.
He
smiled –for what seemed like the first time in years- as he pulled the blankets
over her.
“The
living dead. Nosferatu. Dos Vampyr. A vampire.”
She
was asleep before he had finished talking.
Pikachu
and he continued to watch her for a very long time, almost until dawn, before
they too succumbed to sleep’s wiles.
“She
wasn’t at the train station.” Brock frowned as he hung his coat on the hook
behind the door. “I waited two hours, but she wasn’t on the train. The next
train from Indigo doesn’t get in till tomorrow.”
May
bit her bottom lip.
“Gods,
Brock, I hope something didn’t happen to her.”
“She
would have called us if she was hurt or in trouble. My guess is, she got the
dates for her trip mixed up. I bet you if I go there tomorrow night, she’ll be
waiting.”
May
sighed.
“I
hope you’re right Brock. I hope you’re right.”
Misty
sat bolt upright, the nightmare having jolted her out of sleep so suddenly, she
passed from asleep to awake in a blink of the eye.
Her
nightmare had been so gruesomely visceral that she had sweated in her sleep.
Marill
slept beside her, bathed in the morning sun that filtered in through a cracked
and dirty window.
She
blinked slowly as she took in her surroundings.
She
was huddled in a pile of blankets on a mattress, which rested on bare wood
floors.
The
room she was in appeared to have once been an office of some kind, but the desk
was now gone, and the only furniture was the mattress. A door led to a small
bathroom of some kind, and she was alone. Hesitantly she peeled back the
covers, determined to give herself an once-over to determine what had happened.
As she examined her torn shirt, and tried to scratch the dried blood from her
partially-exposed bra, she froze.
Footsteps,
coming from the left side and slightly below.
She
blinked, and was unable to react as the door eased open, and a figure stepped
through, bearing what appeared to be a coffee cup.
“You
are awake. I trust Pikachu did not disturb you?”
The
huddle of blankets in the corner of the room she had taken to be a pile of rags
moved, and a dark-yellow ear flopped out.
“Uh,
no.”
The
figure who stood in the doorway could have been no other than her saviour, if
only for the smokiness of his voice.
A
face that would’ve been handsome were it not so gaunt smiled at her. The action
seemed unfamiliar, and the smile sat oddly atop that perfect mouth, and
uneasily on bloody lips. Half-lidded eyes as dark as oil spills met hers, and
she was forced to look away.
The
hunger in that gaze was unnatural.
His
clothes were an assembly of rags of all different sizes and shades, ranging
from dark grey to dark green, but all were sombre. He passed her the mug, and
her hands brushed fingertips that were unusually long and callused.
“Water,
I am afraid. Neither Pikachu nor I drink coffee.”
“Thank
you,” she murmured trying to look any where but those mad, thirsty eyes.
“It
is morning, and you will be safe –or at least as safe as a lone woman can be in
a city such as this- in the daylight. I will not come with you, for I do not
like to be out in the sun overly much.”
Because you’re a vampire! Misty’s mind
screamed, and she knew it was true. What else could he be with such long and
sharp teeth, and the bloodstained mouth? And the hunger in those eyes indicated
an unnatural lust of some kind, and the lust for blood was as unnatural as they
came.
“Right.”
He
smiled at her again, and she tried –and failed- to suppress a shiver. He
laughed.
“Do
not fret. I will not bite you. I do not harm those whom I have spent so much
time and energy to protect.”
She
laid the cup down –the water, although clean, was stale- and pulled her shoes
on, rousing Marill from the bed.
“I
suppose I should thank you somehow...”
He
laughed again.
“How?
I have no use for money, I do not want for any material object, and I am alone
among my kind in that I do not lust over anything bar my next feed, so your
body –however beautiful it is- will not tempt me. The only way you could thank
me would be to leave and not tell the police of my whereabouts.”
She
flushed at his previous suggestion, and once again, he smiled.
This
was a different smile, crooked and so alike to someone’s she had thought gone
and forgotten that her heart clenched.
His
eyes, previously alight with madness, glowed with mischief.
“Yes,
I do not think you would tell where I was, for no one would believe you. Even
if you yourself do not believe that we are real –as we most certainly are- I
suggest that you avoid walking at night. Next time, I will not be there to save
you.”
His
tone grew colder, and his eyes hard.
“Well,
I thank you again,” she said, and headed slowly for the door.
“Wait.”
She
froze and turned, afraid that the hospitality he had extended would be gone and
instead he would lunge, sharp teeth gleaming and bare...
“What
is your name? I would warn the others to keep away from you.”
Misty
let out a small sigh of relief.
“Misty.
Misty Waterflower.”
With
that she slipped out the door, not noticing the look of utter shock on the face
of her vampiric saviour.
It cannot be! It cannot be!
Pikachu,
who’d woken when her name had been spoken, jolted out of its pile of blankets.
“Pika?”
he asked, both curious and afraid.
“It
is her,” he breathed, and once again
he saw her, saw her the way she had been shortly before she had left.
Ginger
hair in the disarray of sleep, tendrils curling around her face. That nose, ever-so-slightly
turned up at the end, and dusted faintly with freckles. Blue eyes, warm and
soft with sleep, but wide with the fear she had felt near him. Pink lips and
pale skin, and a delicate bone-structure. An elegant neck, and a slender body.
Still
slim, as she had been as a child, but no longer scrawny.
Ash
felt a sigh shudder through him, and unconsciously he licked his lips. That
hot, clawing flower of hunger and blood-lust bloomed in his stomach as he
thought of her.
He’d
been able to see the delicate tracery of veins and arteries below her skin,
almost been able to hear the thud of her heart.
He
could smell the blood on her, could almost taste it...
No! Do not think like that!
You are not like them!
He
shook himself viciously, trying to push away the desire she had awoken in him,
the desire for a part of her that he knew was entirely unnatural and likely to
remain unsatisfied, even if he visited the city’s most... accommodating... brothels.
Pikachu
head butted his leg, expressing the concern for his once-trainer and now
partner in crime non-verbally.
“Gods,
Pikachu, I thought she was dead,” he whispered to the empty room. “And to
think, if I had not found her last night, she would be.”
He
shivered again.
If I had not been able to
control myself, she would have been dead even if I had saved her.
Misty
couldn’t suppress the feeling that she knew the man from somewhere, although
she wondered if such a loose term applied to him.
She’d
met a vampire!
She
didn’t think that they really existed, thought they had all just been made-up
monsters that parents used to threaten their children, like the Boogey-Man.
And
then, she’d seen him.
Why did he save me? From
what he looked like, and the hunger in his eyes, he could have just as easily
eaten me!
That
was true.
There
was a desperation in his eyes that said that he was on the edge. She wasn’t
sure why though; apparently he’d fed earlier that night...
“What
if he was the murderer?” she asked, stopping in the crowded street she had been
walking down, and holding Marill tighter to her chest. “What if he was the one
killing everybody?”
It
was a possibility, she had to admit. She’d seen those eyes; he had killed and
would kill again. But then... there almost seemed to be a desperately noble quality to him. He saved her, and
he hadn’t needed to, and he’d been kind to her... had it all been a ploy?
“No,”
she murmured, placing a hand on her collarbone, just above her torn shirt. “He
wasn’t playing. He was for real.”
Her
skin still tingled where he’d washed away the blood, and she could still smell him... sweat, that male-scent that
was uniquely his, and the sickly sweet hint of blood... it was, now that she
admitted it, rather attractive.
Gods, girl, snap out of it!
You’re fantasising about someone who would just as happily eat you for dinner!
Misty
shook herself again, and ignoring curious stares from the passers-by, gasped.
“Oh
gods! I forgot to call Brock!”
“And
where have you be- ye gods Misty! What happened to you? Did you get into a
street fight or something?” Brock seemed shocked to see Misty outside on the
footpath, and paying a taxi-driver.
After
she’d handed the man a tip –only a small one, as he’d made very suggestive
comments about her torn shirt all the way to Brock’s house- Misty turned and
walked up the driveway.
“Good
to see you too, Brock.”
Brock
seemed horrified to see her shirt torn, and her shoulder speckled with blood.
“You’re
bleeding-” he began, but she cut him off.
“It’s
not mine. You would not believe the night I had.”
May,
who’d emerged from the door, still in pyjamas even though it was a quarter past
nine, rubbed her eyes sleepily.
“Misty!
How’d you end up like that?” she asked, just as horrified as Brock. “I can see
your bra!”
Misty yawned. Even though she’d slept well –apart from the nightmare- and even
though that bed –it was more of a nest really- was quite comfortable, she still
felt tired.
“Yeah,
you and half of Indigo. Sorry I wasn’t on the train last night, Brock. Ran into
trouble.”
“I’ll
say,” muttered Brock as she walked past the pair, and into the house, where a
gob-smacked Max dropped his spoon into his cereal, and stared at her open
mouthed.
“I’d
tell you guys about it if I thought you’d believe me, but for now, I’m going to
have a shower. C’mon Marill.”
“-two victims were found
last night. Police had previously believed that the second victim had been the
one responsible for the crimes, but are now unsure. It is not known whether
these recent spate of killings are linked to other murders previously found in
Indigo city. Investigations are continuing-”
The
few people that inhabited the smoky night-club during the day cheered and
laughed. A few pokemon howled.
When
Ash opened the door, those same jubilant voices screeched angrily at the raw
sunlight streaming through the swirling smoke of the nightclub. Pikachu leapt
in, all but disappearing into the gloom as Ash shut the door.
He
made his way through various groupings and couples –not all opposite genders,
and not all the same species- and ignored the sight of a pair of female feeders
squabbling over the body of a dying human. His eyes were blue and desperate,
and his blonde hair caked with blood, but Ash ignored him, and soon his death
cries blended into the dischord around him.
Once, I would have stopped.
Once, I would have cared.
He
approached the dais of the dim, smoky room –the one lit by red lights hiding in
the clouded roof- and brushed away curling tendrils of bloody smoke.
“Well.
I believe that it is you we have to
thank for the entertainment.” The shrouded figure waved a hand vaguely in the
direction of one of the nightclubs many bracketed wall-mounted televisions,
each which cast flickering blue light into the gloom.
Ash
sunk to his knees, and touched his forehead to the floor littered with
cigarette butts. Pikachu, beside him, did the same, and then leapt onto his
shoulder.
A
chuckle from the figure in front of him, and a gust of smoke as he stood. He
couldn’t make out the woman seated; all he could see was the red light of her
cigarette, and the gleam of her eyes in the shadows.
“Another
of your foolish comrades gone, and another dead at your hands. Were you not one
of mine, I would fear you.” A harsh smoky chuckle.
“But,
I made you. Therefore, your hand cannot turn against me, no matter how much you
wish it would.”
Ash
felt his fists clench in anger, but kept his face impassive.
Behind
him, the male human screamed once, and died, and Ash could hear the grunts,
barks and snorts of various assorted pokemon as they squabbled over his
entrails. On his shoulder, Pikachu shuddered.
“Still,
I do have to wonder why I keep you. You are dangerous, and although you cannot
kill without my permission, you are still prone to independent thought. Not a
good quality in a slave.”
“Perhaps
for sport, lady?” he asked, and knew that the words shouldn’t have been said.
He
could feel her claws, could hear the snap of her teeth, and knew death
approached him.
I am ready to die.
She
laughed. Death, it seemed, was too good for him.
“Yes.
For sport. And you are useful when it comes to... disposing... of your colleagues once they rebel.”
Her
eyes narrowed and she blew a narrow stream of smoke into his face. He could
feel the sting of it as he drew it into his lungs, and the tingle as his body
repaired itself with an inhuman speed.
“I
would tell you that my favour will be withdrawn if you ignore my orders again.”
She yawned, and the cigarette was flicked to the floor.
“The
feeder’s rite will be soon. I require you to find me a sacrifice. A good one.”
Ash
turned to leave, noting that in his past, he would have objected, but now
merely thought of how to knock the poor innocent unconscious before they were
captured.
“Perhaps
the woman you saved last night.”
Ash
froze.
His
breathing slowed, and he tried not to let the anger, and above all the fear, show.
How could she know? No one
saw us. How could she know?
And
then, as his eyes scanned the room, looking furiously for an answer, he met the
gaze of the fool-feeder from last night, the one that had been chasing her.
The
feeder swallowed, and Ash’s eyes narrowed.
Even
as he contemplated the fool-feeder’s violent and bloody death, her voice
shattered his reverie.
“Yes.
That woman. She will do me well. Tell me of her.”
He
turned back to the woman, the woman seated on the dais, upon the make-shift
throne of scrapped and twisted metal.
“A
beautiful girl, and a kind one,” even as he spoke, his mind dredged up
memories. “Brave and loyal to a fault. She would lay her life on the line to
save a friend.”
She certainly did for me,
once.
The
woman smiled; he could see the glint of her teeth through the smoke.
“Yes.
She will make a good sacrifice. Perfect to bind those outsiders to our court. I
trust that you will bring her to me?”
“Let
me find you another-”
A
throaty chuckle, and a viciously beautiful smile which did not meet the eyes of
his leader.
“Once,
it would have amused me to see you struggle with replacing an innocent with
another, but I think not this time. Deliver her to me. I will brook no
replacement.”
Ash
was tempted to say that he would not, but knew that even if he refused, she
would still be taken. Better to die at the hands of an old friend than those of
a stranger...
The
woman on the throne sighed, and a smooth pale hand –with long nails crusted
with something dark and unspeakable- went to the pendant at her throat.
A
crucifix, worn upside down.
Ash
shivered.
The
catholic faith –one of Kanto’s little-known cults, and not a very popular one-
believed that vampires could be banished through holy relics and blessed water.
Poor ignorant fools.
He
turned from the throne, past the couples and groupings –a few cried out,
whether in agony or ecstasy he did not know or care- and through the doors.
Black
peeling paint crackled off in curls as the door slammed, and he stepped out
into the raw sunlight.
Hot
water washed away the blood on her skin, and chased away the lingering shadows
of the night. Marill giggled as she skidded through the steamy bathroom. Misty
rolled her eyes as she massaged shampoo into her hair.
“Well,
my pet, was that an unusual night or what?”
Marill
chirruped in agreement, and rooted through the pile of discarded clothes on the
floor, searching for the chocolate bar she knew Misty had in her pocket.
“That
was one night I’ll never forget. And for all the wrong reasons.” Misty
shuddered, and washed away the peach-scented foam.
Marill
nodded an agreement, mouth full of chocolate.
“If
that man hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened.” She paused,
thinking back to those mad, dark eyes. “He seemed familiar... I wonder if I’ve
seen him anywhere before?”
Misty
thought for a moment, and stood still in the shower, peach-scented lather
dripping onto the enamel base.
She
shook her head, and wiped shampoo out of her eyes.
“Nah.
If I’d seen him walking down the street –and I doubt I’d forget after seeing
someone looking like that- I’d
remember.”
Reaching
for the body wash, she shrugged.
“Guess
he just had one of those faces that is familiar, you know? Although he reminded
me of Ash, when he smiled like that. Poor soul.” Misty unconsciously made the
sign to ward off bad spirits, and blinked away stubborn tears that stung her
eyes.
“Must’ve
got soap in my eyes,” she muttered, wiping them with the back of her hand.
The
girl suddenly shivered, cold for all the hot water that rushed over her, and
the steam-choked air that clung in her throat.
To
her, the quiet of the bathroom –broken only by the spill of running water and
the whirr of the fan- suddenly became the quiet of the tunnel, dark shadows
oozing from cracks in the plaster, blinding her, choking her, his screams all
around her as those things fed on
him, the sound of tearing flesh rent the very air-
Misty
blinked.
The
tunnel was gone, she was in the bathroom, and the shadows were no-where to be
seen.
Marill
chirruped urgently, knowing something was wrong.
“I’m
fine, Marill. Really.”
Marill
looked up forlornly, and knew she was lying.
Crowds
parted as Ash walked through the streets of Indigo; not through respect or
fear, but because he looked gods-damned weird.
Not
many men as tall as him would willingly have a Pikachu perched atop their
shoulder.
He’d
changed into an outfit that looked somewhat human, and washed what blood had
remained off him.
All
the same, in an ultra-modern black coat and black pants, shirt and boots, with
shaggy black hair sliding over his shoulders, he looked like a gothic-freak
who’d gotten lost from the circus.
It
was, Ash felt, entirely appropriate.
The
court he belonged to –against his will- was led by their Lady, and Ash had
found himself high in the hierarchy for some unknown reason. Perhaps because he
fed on others like him, a disturbing habit in the eyes of many, but something
that their Lady leader found... interesting.
The gothic-look suited him, because most of the court dressed in black –with
the exception of the Lady, who always dressed in white, for some perverse
reason- and because only a feeder could truly pull off the gothic look.
Many
of them shared the same beliefs as the Gothics, although feeders truly did
worship darkness.
They
also kept humans as pets.
He’d
freed more than one, slipping a knife into shackled hands, and lending a
helping hand of his own to those who lacked the courage or the strength.
Others
had refused his offer of freedom, trapped not by shackles on their limbs, but
shackles in their minds.
Those
he had freed wandered the astral planes now, perhaps seeking lost and loved
ones, perhaps seeking revenge. He did not know.
The
freak suited him, because inhuman as he was, the feeder blood in his veins had
altered his appearance. A feeder could always spot another feeder.
He
could see a few of them in the crowd, the occasional face with the sharp
cheekbones, the occasional pair of shiny, mad eyes.
More
than one refused to meet his gaze, and he felt like laughing.
A
black Murkrow amongst a crowd of bright-coloured Taillow, Ash strode through
towards the train station that would take him to the last place he would like
to be, and the place where he thought he would find her:
“What’s
cooking? I’m starving,” Misty pulled a seat up at the so-called breakfast bar,
pale cheeks flushed pink from the hot shower. She was dressed in clothes
neither blood-spattered nor torn, with the night’s clothes finding their way
into the bin, along with the full bottle of soap she had emptied getting clean.
Marill
leapt up onto the bench, and pleaded silently with Brock for a morsel of some
kind.
Brock,
long used to such techniques –his cooking was famous among his many siblings-
ignored the pokemon.
“Marill,
if you want some, you’ll have to wait with everybody else. Well, we’re having
pancakes, Misty.”
Misty
licked her lips, and for some reason, found herself thinking of her saviour.
He looked like he’d always
be hungry.
She
shook herself, trying to squash the thought before it grew more prolific.
“Sounds
good.”
Behind
her, seated at the kitchen table, May sighed impatiently.
“C’mon
Brock! You’re taking forever!”
Brock
frowned, and flipped the pancakes.
“Good
pancakes take time, May. If you would prefer raw ones –where the batter is
lumpy and only half-cooked- you can cook your own. If you want some of these,
you’ll have to wait.”
May
scowled darkly at the table cloth, and Misty felt oddly out of place amongst
the everyday, normal goings-on of this house.
Right
on cue, Max stumbled sleepily down the stairs; hair looking like he’d used a
fork to comb it, and glasses haphazard.
He’d
made an effort to change into ordinary clothes, unlike May, who was still in
pyjamas, although she did have her bandana on.
“There.
I’m dressed. Satisfied?” asked Max, and Brock expounded on a long explanation
–even as he dished out breakfast- that having a shirt on inside out and pants
back to front was not dressed.
Misty
took her seat at the table, faced her pancakes, and lifted her fork. Beside
her, May sloshed lemon juice over her stack, and upended the sugar shaker. Max
drowned his in maple syrup, and Brock muttered about the pair of them being
‘philistines’ as he layered his with butter.
On
the kitchen bench, Marill watched her, concern showing in dark eyes.
Misty,
unsure of why she no longer felt hungry even though the pancakes smelt so good,
laid her fork down.
Among
the hubbub, no one around the table noticed.
The
clean air of Cerulean was spiced with salt, and Ash felt the smog being chased
from his lungs. Pikachu sighed happily as he dug his toes into the sand.
“Pika...”
Ash
smiled wanly. If only they were both pleased so easily.
They
walked –no, he walked, and Pikachu
trotted beside him- along the beach, and the sand crunched under his boots,
reminding Ash of all the times that he had visited the beach as a child, most
of the times being at her bidding.
Every time we came near a
beach, we would have to stop, and she would run full-pelt into the waves,
clothes and all.
He
shook his head abruptly, chasing away the stubborn thought.
Do not think of her. Do not.
You saved her once, and now it is at your hand that she will meet her doom. Her
blood will join the others that stain them. Do not think that you can save her,
because you cannot. She will die, as all mortals must die.
He
blinked back hot tears that welled.
“That
is strange,” he whispered as he walked, ignoring the concerned look that came
from Pikachu.
In
all of his many years, he had not cried once since that night –that gory night
where his tears had mingled with his blood- and now he was crying.
Unheeded,
fat tears rolled lazily down gaunt cheeks.
Ash
shivered.
Feeders
did not cry. They did not. To cry was a sign of weakness, and anyone who did so
would be killed off.
And
yet...
The
wet tears stung as they trickled down, hot and salty, and they tasted bitter
when they reached his mouth.
“Why?”
he asked Pikachu, but the small pokemon –usually so attuned to Ash’s mind he
could almost hear his thoughts- could not answer.
It
was only after Marill clambered onto the table and started gnawing at Misty’s
breakfast that the others noticed she wasn’t eating.
“Misty?
Didn’t you like the pancakes?”
“I’ll
have ‘em if she doesn’t want them,” mumbled Max around a mouthful of his own.
“You
still hungry? Geez, Max, you already had a bowl of cereal and some toast, not
to mention those pancakes you’re stuffing into your face. What you want hers
for?” May shook her head in disgust as her brother rolled his eyes at her.
“No,
it’s not that Brock. I’m just not hungry, is all.”
Brock
eyed Misty, concerned, and not believing the girl.
“What
happened to you last night? Something’s got you rattled, and I’ll bet a week of
dish duty that it’s something to do with last night.”
Misty
refused to meet the older man’s gaze, concentrating on the pattern in the
tablecloth.
Before
her eyes, the gaps in the lace changed until they loosely resembled Zubat.
Misty
shivered.
“Misty?”
“Excuse
me,” she murmured, pushing out her chair, and leaving the table, consciously
aware of the way their eyes followed her as she walked up the stairs.
Marill
watched too, concerned, but then turned back to the plate of pancakes, stomach
taking priority over heart.
The
crowds of Cerulean were smaller than those that swamped Indigo, and the faces
more open, but even so they still shied away from him as he walked.
Ash
was distantly aware of the changes that had overcome the city; it was larger,
the decorations of the city still ocean-themed, if somewhat shabbier. And it
seemed... sick... somehow, as though there was some parasite feeding off its
good citizens...
A
feeder, disguised as one of the crowd, met his eyes and bared her teeth.
So even here is not safe...
we are everywhere, like a virus that continues to spread.
Pikachu
scrambled up his back –he could feel the pokémon’s sharp claws poking through
fabric- and rested on his shoulder.
The
crowd continued to part before him like the sea before a ship, and he ignored
the looks of passers-by as he headed for the one building he knew would be the
same as it ever was: Cerulean gym.
“Misty?”
Misty
closed her eyes, ignoring the man in the doorway.
“Misty,
if there’s something wrong...”
“Nothing’s
wrong Brock. I’ve just got a headache. Don’t feel much like eating, even if
you’re the one who cooked.”
Footsteps,
slightly muffled by the carpet, grew closer, and the springs groaned as he
perched on the end of the bed.
“You’re
a terrible liar. Absolutely terrible. Something’s bugging you. I want you to
tell me, or I’ll...”
Misty
suppressed a laugh.
“You’ll
what?” she asked, sitting up and opening her eyes.
“I’ll
dip you in Dratini-baby food and put you in their pen at the breeding centre.
You’ll be licked to death. Now tell me, unless you want to end your life as
baby-chow.”
Misty
smiled wanly at the rather imaginative threat.
“Sorry,
Brock, I just feel... I dunno, funny I guess.”
The
springs groaned again as Brock stood.
“You
know I don’t believe that.” He looked around the room, and saw that her
suitcase was once again packed.
“Going
home, are we?”
Misty
sighed.
“No-where’s
home anymore Brock. No-where’s home.”
“Well,
if you want a home, there’s always here.”
Misty
smiled, and opened her eyes.
“Yeah,
I know. All the same, gotta go. One of us has always got to be on the move, you
know. One of us has to be a traveller, like he
was.”
She
stood and hugged him.
“One
of us has to remember him.” she whispered.
I don’t think I’ll ever be
able to forget. How could you have died like that? How, Ash? How?
“I
guess there is nothing I can say to make you stay, huh?”
Brock’s
face was filled with compassion as he let her go.
Misty
shook her head.
“Well,
make sure you’re careful in the forest. Viridian might be smaller than it used
to be, but it’s still filled with crooks. If you want to head for Vermillion, I
suggest you take the shortcut through the tunnel-”
“No.
Not the tunnel.” interrupted Misty. “Not the tunnel. I’ll go the long way, even
if there are Rockets in the woods.” Misty’s eyes were cold with fear when she
spoke.
“I’m
not going through the tunnel again. There are worse things in the world than
bandits and Team Rocket, Brock.”
Brock
nodded, understanding the reference to his death, all those years ago. He still
remembered the look on Misty’s face when they had found her, found here alone
in that cave, drenched in blood, eyes vacant and curled into a ball, the dying
screams of her friend still ringing in her ears.
He
didn’t know what had passed that night, but he knew it was something that had
scarred her, something that brought shadows into her dreams that all the
night-lights in the world couldn’t chase away.
CERULEAN GYM: CLOSED FOR
DEMOLITION.
The
sign was old, chipped and worn, paint faded in the hot light of the sun.
The
gym itself was dilapidated and decaying where it stood, tiles missing from the
roof, and the outdoor pools green with slime and various organisms that one
would not have found there ten years previous.
Ash
grimaced and kicked the locked gates, rust crumbling and spraying the ground
around him.
Perhaps
it was a good thing that she was not here. If she were not here, he could go
back and say so honestly, and perhaps she would be spared...
No. The Lady will merely ask
that I search harder. And there is no way I could disobey her if directly
ordered. I am her slave, her little errand-boy, and she delights in my
murderous tasks...
He
turned, shading his eyes as he stared into the sun, watching the broiling
ocean. Sunlight shimmered and coalesced on the sea, and he looked beyond it,
his gaze flitting over the crowds, the buildings, and settling on the deep
green shadow of
If I were running from the
past, where would I hide?
His
eyes narrowed.
Once,
he would have fought back. Once, he would have done anything rather than
deliver her to a death slow, painful and bloody.
Even
though Ash Ketchum had died, died that night of gore and tears, what remained
of him would not let him lead her to her death.
Maybe,
just maybe, he could warn her. The Lady would not expect him back so soon.
Perhaps, she could be found and warned...
She need not die at my
hands...
His
gaze focused on
Pikachu
chuffed quietly, and Ash nodded.
His
death need not be in vain.
END PART ONE
AUTHOR’S
NOTES: Hooray! Vampires! Vampires have to be one of most favourite ghoulies,
although I like fairies too. (Now, if you think fairies are pissy little flower
sprites, you should read some of the old Celtic legends, or the book Tithe, by Holly Black, which also
inspired this fic.) Anyway, this fic is pretty gory so far, and it’s going to
get more so. If you have a weak stomach, I suggest you don’t read on after
having a greasy meal. Especially nachos. (Ooh, don’t eat nachos and watch a
gory movie or read a gory book. Trust me on this.)
I’ve
called my vampires ‘Feeders’ because I think it suits the more urbanised kind
of blood-sucker, and I’ll explain how these vampires come to be in the next
part, which won’t be for a while. Sorry, but I’ve really got to finish part two
of M,W&TA, and I’ve got heaps of
homework these holidays. I just wanted to put this on the net so my friend
could read it, seeing as I can’t send it to her.
The
title comes from a song by Garbage,
and I liked the sound of it. It doesn’t really have anything to do with the
story.
As
always, don’t mind any spelling mistakes. I try to get them all, and really I should
be able to find them as an avid reader, but I miss a few every now and then.
Thanks
to my friend (you know who you are) for all the help with vampire lore –which
I’ll be putting into subsequent parts- and to everyone who reads these. (So far
I’ve gotten two reviews! Hooray, that’s almost a cult following! Well, sort of.)
Please
review. You don’t have to, but it’d be great if you did. My email address is
still mr_jelly_has_a_spoon@hotmail.com
(no, I was not one drugs when I thought that up. Admittedly, I had drunk a lot
of soft drink, and I had just eaten a whole pizza, but I wasn’t on drugs. Or
drunk. Really.) and any reviews, no matter how critical, would be welcome.
I’ll
try to update as soon as possible, and try to add other fics to the site as
soon as I finish them.
Thanks
for reading,
Clover
2005.