Synesthesia - Chapter Nine
Jul. 14th, 2011 01:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: AKA the chapter in which shit hits the fan. The warnings have been updated to account for the addition of mild gore in this chapter. If you can watch a crime scene on TV, you should be fine.
Title: Synesthesia
Rating: T (for violence and language and some gore)
Description: Ethan has lived with his gift -- hearing emotions as music -- his entire life. And he's learned to cope with it. But when a serial killer makes a home in his town, and he's contacted by different groups all wanting to make use of his ability, he finds himself dragged into the thick of things. And all he wants to do is be left alone.
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Chapter Nine
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Nine PM couldn't come fast enough for Ethan who shooed out the last of the customers and quickly counted down the last till. Since the cashiers had left thirty minutes prior, all Ethan had to do was secure the deposit, empty the trash, and lock the doors. Luckily, those were all commonplace and didn't require deep thought.
The silence in The Archives was oddly soothing. He had nothing but the hum of the HVAC unit to pierce his thoughts. And there was no one nearby to jar his ears with discordant emotion, a wonderful relief.
Tucking the deposit safely away in the main office, Ethan closed and locked the door behind him. He was careful to jimmy the handle, confirming that it had locked. Darryl could be so paranoid sometimes.
Jaiden was standing in the historical section, browsing a book on Ancient Rome. Dry reading in Ethan's opinion. He looked up as Ethan paused at the end of the aisle.
He lifted up the bag of trash he had grabbed pointedly. “I'm just going to dump this and then we can lock up and leave.”
Jaiden nodded, probably bored. It had been an uneventful, tedious night.
Taking that as agreement, Ethan lifted the bag with a rustle and headed for the side door. It was an emergency exit that led into the cramped alley, but until Ethan activated the security system, using it wouldn't sound an alarm. Besides, it was the quickest route to the dumpster without having to circle around the entire building.
A rush of cold air attacked Ethan as he stepped outside and he paused long enough to nudge the piece of concrete block into the open doorway. He didn't want to end up trapped outside, banging on the door in hopes Jaiden would hear him and deign to let him in.
Block in place, Ethan made for the dumpster about twenty paces down the alley and threw in the bag, wincing at the malodorous odor of rotting trash. Dumpsters never smelled good.
He let the lid shut with a clunk that echoed down the alley between Triple C and the Archives. It was small, narrow, and connected to Main Street on the other side. Graffitti decorated the brick in bright bursts of color and somewhere, something dripped. Probably a leaking pipe, a leftover from all the rainstorms.
Shoving his chilled hands into his pockets, Ethan turned back to the Archives. It was getting cold at night, and it was only October.
A harsh slam made Ethan startle in surprise and he whirled, finding that someone had pelted out of the back door of Lucky Mike's, a barbeque joint that was behind Triple C and faced Main Street. Whoever it was ran helter-skelter, sneakers slapping against the pavement, heading straight toward Ethan as he careened back and forth between the walls. Drunk?
No, not with those emotions. Not with the fear that struck like the discordant shriek of a violin in Psycho and lanced through Ethan's brain with such volume that he gasped, ears ringing. Ethan's knees wobbled, overcome by sheer terror that wasn't his own. He fumbled, slumping against the dumpster, a small moan slipping past his lips.
Laughter echoed in the alley, harsh and mocking. The ringing in his ears meant that Ethan could only identify it as female, high-pitched as it rang through the air.
“Running, are you?” she asked nastily, obviously not the one fleeing, her emotions closed off to Ethan. Scarily silent, as though she were a big blank spot in the universe.
Like Jaiden or Melanie. Like a Kinetic.
Panic made Ethan's stomach twist into knots, made him cover his ears futilely against the noxious sounds. He pressed against the metal of the dumpster, eyes clenching shut. He tasted blood, fear and panic bubbling in a high-pitched frequency in his ears. They were starting to hurt, making him dizzy.
“It's far too late for that,” the female Kinetic hissed mockingly and a sliver of emotion broke through her immature shielding.
Malice, dark and heavy, like a horror movie soundtrack. Like Jason or Freddie were stalking the alley, right on the heels of their victim.
Glee, light and twisted, like Pink not giving a damn.
Triumph, a trumpet call of victory, clear and clarion. It was a flash of sound, a jumble of emotions that had no business mixing together.
The running person – a man? – shrieked, too close, and Ethan didn't have words to describe what happened next. Something like a terrible wrenching, ripping noise. Like a bag of water had popped under great pressure.
Warmth splattered on Ethan's face and body, dark and wet and bitter like blood.
If there was a sound of someone dying, Ethan heard it now.
Terror and disgust lanced like an ice shard through Ethan's belly. His own emotions, for once, stark and vivid.
And She just shrieked with mad laughter, sparking Ethan's faculties into action. His panic-stricken brain could only process one command: Run.
He stumbled to his feet, hurtling without thought toward the open door of the Archives. He nearly slipped on something wet, slick and squishy and Ethan felt nausea bubble up in his belly. Acid burned at the back of his throat, and his skin was clammy, hands sweating. His heart pounded a mile a minute.
She was still laughing, the serial killer, because that was what she had to be. How could she be anything else?
Ethan fumbled over his own feet in his haste, crashing against a garbage pail, making a large noise and announcing his presence. Her amusement abruptly ended with a startled sound.
Fear nearly choked Ethan, who was certain he was next, until startlement stabbed into his ears – the sharp screech of a clarinet with a broken reed. Ethan didn't dare look over his shoulder, not even caring if he appeared a gutless coward.
He was so sure of a messy end, that it came as a surprise when he burst into the safety of the Archives, tripping on the concrete block. He tumbled to the floor, getting rug burns on his palms, and immediately flipped over, kicking out to dislodge the piece of concrete. The emergency door slammed shut and Ethan shivered, staring at it with growing dread.
Would she come after him? Would the door even be a hindrance?
His face felt sticky, his fingers gummy. A smell, like thick copper and human waste, clung to the air. Ethan touched his cheek and stared in horror at his fingers when they came away scarlet. Bits of something colorless mingled with the blood.
Ethan's gut twisted, turning over itself, and vomit burned in his throat. He was shaking and Ethan barely turned in time, spewing on the floor instead of himself. The smells and sounds clung to him like a stubborn woodland burr. His head spun dizzily and Ethan could feel himself violently trembling.
Her voice was still shrieking in the back of his head.
He'd... he'd just...
“Ethan?” Footsteps came closer, hurried but soft. Jaiden.
Swiping the back of his hand over his mouth – and only succeeding in smearing gore around – Ethan weakly turned away from his vomit and tried to focus. But the jarring threnody of the stranger's death stole his concentration like vertigo. The lights were too bright, the floor too hard, and Ethan didn't think himself capable of standing.
He wanted a shower: scalding hot with a lime scrub to scrape his skin raw. Anything to get rid of this nauseating sense of death.
“Ethan?” A hand settled on his shoulder.
He jerked away as if stung, silence sweeping over him and making his thoughts ping around inside his head. He didn't want the silence.
“The blood's not mine,” Ethan said hoarsely, throat raw and aching. He stared blankly at the nearby bookshelf, where rows of spines became a blur of colors.
He could feel Jaiden's gaze on him, heavy and unrelenting. “Then whose is it?”
“I don't...” Ethan shook his head and then regretted the action when it made him dizzier. “I don't know. Some stranger. She killed him. Right there.”
“Where? Who did?”
Ethan licked his lips, then gagged when the taste of blood touched his tongue. “In the alley,” he said, swallowing thickly, trying to keep himself from vomiting again. His belly kept doing cartwheels, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. The world wouldn't stop spinning.
Jaiden moved past him, hands at his side, fingers twitching as he headed toward the emergency exit. Ethan moved quickly, grabbing for Jaiden, trying to stop him. But the movement was too quick and Ethan groaned, his skull throbbing like someone had stabbed it with a thousand needles.
Pressing his hands against his temples, Ethan tried to breathe slowly, regain his composure. But his nerves were too raw, unready to be calmed. His heart was an anxious flutter, he couldn't catch a breath and the stench of death clung to him and the air. His clothes were wet and squishy. He could feel it caking his skin.
The back door slammed shut as Jaiden returned. “Whoever she was, she's gone now.” His lips curled with disgust and even he looked faintly ill. “She left her handiwork behind.”
Ethan's gut churned.
“We should leave,” Jaiden added, his eyes flicking over Ethan's appearance. “We can't afford the cops suspecting you of anything.”
“But--”
Jaiden's eyes flashed. “Whoever he was, there's nothing we can do for him anymore. Right now, you're the one in danger.”
Too rattled to argue, Ethan nodded mutely and forced himself to his feet. He pulled out the keys with trembling fingers and locked the emergency exit, cuing the alarms. He turned, staring in dismay at his own vomit on the carpet. He couldn't leave it there all night.
It was a mindless task to focus on, something to keep him from breaking out into a raw, hyperventilating panic. Something to keep him from completely losing himself.
He grabbed cleaner and paper towels and scrubbed the floor until all that was left was a slightly darker wet patch that should dry by morning. It might be a little stained, but at least the air would smell lemon-fresh instead of vomit-bitter.
He hoped that by focusing on the mundane, he wouldn't fall into pathetic hysterics. Or at least, that was what he intended. But when he went into the bathroom, and caught sight of himself in the mirror, blood and.... other things splattered on his face, Ethan lost it. He bent, dry heaving over the sink, gripping the pale grey ceramic with white-knuckled fingers.
Dragging in several aching breaths, Ethan struggled for composure. He twisted on the tap and grabbed a handful of paper towels. He wetted them with the steaming hot water and scrubbed at his face and hair. He refused to watch the swirling water turn pink. It would only make him gag again.
She killed him.
The female Kinetic – which ruled out Taylor, who would have at least been a known factor – had blown that man to pieces. And she'd laughed. Out of pride or amusement, Ethan didn't know and didn't want to guess. Either way, she was crazy.
He clenched his teeth and washed his hands, scrubbing and scrubbing with the hot water on full blast. He would not scream or cry, he told himself firmly. His pride couldn't take any further beating.
Ethan closed his eyes, unwilling to look in the mirror at is own half-crazed, half-terrified expression. Would she have killed him, too? Had she seen him? Ethan couldn't remember being this scared of Taylor, but then, he hadn't seen Taylor rip someone to pieces.
The flow of water cut off and Ethan hadn't done it. His eyes popped open, catching sight of Jaiden pulling back. The sink glugged as the last of the water drained and Ethan stared at his own hands; they were cherry-red.
“We should leave,” Jaiden said, his voice revealing nothing. Not scorn or pity or mockery or disgust. He could have felt all those things and Ethan would never know because he couldn't Hear Jaiden.
Ethan hated that uncertainty.
He nodded and grabbed a paper towel to dry his hands. They stung a bit, feeling raw, but Ethan only had himself to blame.
While locking up the Archives, Ethan was ridiculously glad for Jaiden's presence. He felt on edge now, startling at the smallest sounds, even that of passing vehicles. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, a reaction that only got worse as they crossed the emptied parking lot.
He saw it immediately, the folded piece of white paper under his windshield wipers. Part of him wanted to ignore its presence. Other parts snapped at him for being such a coward.
Ethan hoped his fingers weren't trembling as he plucked the piece of paper free. It was think, almost like receipt paper, and unfolding it revealed a single sentence in simple, black lettering.
I Know Who You Are.
There was no signature.
His breath caught in his throat, fingers crumpling the paper before Ethan thought better of it. This was evidence.
Evidence he could not take to the police.
Jaiden stepped up beside him, reading over his shoulder. He snorted. “Theatricality is Taylor's style, but this is too simple – and legible – to be from him.”
“I knew that much,” Ethan hissed, casting a wary glance around the deserted parking lot. He saw no one but himself and Jaiden.
An eerie prickle danced down Ethan's spine. Maybe he was paranoid, but Ethan wasn't taking any chances. He shoved the note in his pocket and quickly moved to the driver's side.
“Let's get out of here,” he muttered, climbing into the Honda and locking the door behind him.
“Where?”
A good question. Ethan had the keys to a new apartment courtesy of Mrs. Lazer but he doubted it had much in the name of comfort or amenities. And no way was Ethan going home to Jeanine with himself in this state. Besides, his mother might get it in her mind that he'd changed his mind about living at home while getting his Bachelor's.
“Dray's,” Ethan answered as the Honda rumbled to life. “His parents won't mind and he has plenty of room.” And a change of clothes. Ethan had zipped his coat over his stained shirt, but he couldn't hide the splatters on his jeans. He could only hope they slipped by Thomas', Dray's father, notice.
o0o0o
It was past eleven by the time Ethan pulled up at Dray's, the huge three story house never failing to awe Ethan. It was modeled on the old plantations in the Carolinas, Thomas being a history buff.
Dray must have been watching the driveway because he opened the front door before Ethan could even ring the bell. His cheerful grin faltered as he took in Ethan's appearance, and his brown eyes widened. No doubt disturbed by the blood Ethan hadn't managed to hide.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dray blurted as he pushed open the door and invited them inside for the second night in a row. “I thought you were closing up the Archives.”
“I did,” Ethan muttered dully, unwilling to recount the story but he knew Dray wouldn't let it go. “And while I was taking out the trash, I met the Valda Bomber.”
Dray blinked, shocked, as he ushered them through the hall to the back staircase. No doubt he didn't want his parents to see them.
“What the fuck? And you're still alive?”
Ethan grimaced. “I got lucky. Caught her off guard and ran like hell the first chance I got.” He paused, sobering his tone. “She's not your average psychopath, Dray. She's a Kinetic.”
“Damn,” Dray breathed, and dragged a hand through his hair. “That's not good, Ethan. Did she see you?”
“Worse.” His stomach twisted back into knots. “She knows who I am.”
“That could be seen as a good thing,” Jaiden suggested quietly. “It narrows down our suspects.”
“Yeah, but at the cost of Ethan's safety! What if the bitch decides to come after him next?”
Ethan wasn't feeling so well. In fact, he might need another place to vomit soon. “Thanks, Adrayan. I was trying not to think about that.”
At the top of the stairs, Dray pushed them toward the right wing, sectioned off for his personal use. “Don't call my full name like that,” Dray muttered. “And I'm just trying to be realistic.”
“Ethan needn't worry. I am here,” Jaiden said, as though there were no greater truth.
Dray snorted. “Yeah, but you're just one man. Sure you got awesome powers, but you can't be everywhere at once.”
“Let me use your shower,” Ethan said loudly, wanting to desperately change the subject. His nerves were shot, and his guts churned. His innards did not like all this anxiety.
Dray didn't protest and Ethan had been here enough times that he knew the way. As he turned down the corridor, away from Dray and Jaiden, he knew they were watching him with concern. Dray was radiating so much worry that Ethan couldn't block him out. And on the other side of the huge house, Dray's parents were a jarring symphony that offended Ethan's sensitive empathy.
In the bath, a massive room of marbled tile and fancy towels, Ethan stripped out of his blood-soaked garments and stepped gratefully into steaming hot water. He let it beat on his back and shoulders for a long while until he felt like grabbing a bar of soap to start scrubbing. He watched dully as some of the water turned pink when the rest of the victim's blood washed away.
Ethan's stomach rolled again, so he closed his eyes, focused on the staccato song of the shower and scrubbed himself raw. He didn't feel clean, but he supposed that peace of mind would be a long time coming.
Knocking on the door startled Ethan out of his stupor. The door opened before Ethan could invite the visitor inside.
“Yo! You still alive in there?” Dray asked, just sticking an ear to the crack in the door. Ethan could see his reflection in the foggy mirror.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dray. I've not passed out or had a panic attack. I'm fine.”
“Really?” Dray sounded skeptical. “You've been in here for thirty minutes. If not for Thomas' insistence on huge water heaters, you'd be ice.”
Blinking, Ethan looked at his fingers; they were quite pruny. “I'm getting out now,” he said, over the shower's spray, and turned to cut off the stream.
“I'll bring you some clothes,” Dray said and the door clicked shut behind him.
Thirty minutes? Really?
Ethan grabbed the fluffy black towel and stepped out onto an equally fluffy bathmat. He dried off quickly, feeling oddly vulnerable in his nudity, and wrapped the thick towel around his waist.
Had he honestly spent thirty minutes in the shower? It had felt shorter, like a mere ten minutes standing under the spray.
At least he finally felt clean. He would never wear those clothes again.
Turning toward the mirror, Ethan swiped a palm over the condensation. Red-rimmed brown eyes stared back at him, so bloodshot he almost looked alien. Ethan needed sleep in a bad way. But he also had a new apartment to move into, a couple of exams to study for, and a serial killer to elude. When would he have time to rest?
Dray's knocking startled Ethan out of his reverie. This time, Dray at least had the good sense to wait to be acknowledged, only coming inside when Ethan opened the door.
“Okay, so I brought you some sweats I never wore and one of Thomas' shirts. That all right?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “I'm going to sleep in them not strut down a runway.”
Clothes were shoved into his arms. “A thank you would be nice.” Dray sniffed in mock offense. “Jaiden is in the blue room. You know which one I mean.”
“Yeah.” Ethan pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric sitting light and loose over is shoulders. “And me?”
Dray snorted. “Same as always. You know you're the son Tiffany wished she had.”
“You say that all the time. It's just because they don't know me.”
Dray waved a hand of dismissal. “Yeah, yeah.” He paused, looking Ethan over with a critical eye. “You sure you're all right?”
“I'm fine,” Ethan retorted, putting emphasis on the words. “Now go on.”
“If you say so.” Dray turned toward the door, pausing as his hand curled around the knob. “Say... you're going to give me a ride to class tomorrow, right?”
Ethan lifted his brow. “Thought Thomas let you have your car back?”
Dray laughed nervously, scratching at his chin. “Yeah... about that...”
Rolling his eyes, Ethan shook his head. “Yes, you mooch, I will give you a ride.”
“Says the man crashing at his friend's house for the second day in a row, despite having a perfectly good home to go to,” Dray retorted, and made himself scarce, leaving Ethan time to breathe and ponder.
Tonight, he'll be damned lucky to sleep without nightmares.
Title: Synesthesia
Rating: T (for violence and language and some gore)
Description: Ethan has lived with his gift -- hearing emotions as music -- his entire life. And he's learned to cope with it. But when a serial killer makes a home in his town, and he's contacted by different groups all wanting to make use of his ability, he finds himself dragged into the thick of things. And all he wants to do is be left alone.
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Chapter Nine
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Nine PM couldn't come fast enough for Ethan who shooed out the last of the customers and quickly counted down the last till. Since the cashiers had left thirty minutes prior, all Ethan had to do was secure the deposit, empty the trash, and lock the doors. Luckily, those were all commonplace and didn't require deep thought.
The silence in The Archives was oddly soothing. He had nothing but the hum of the HVAC unit to pierce his thoughts. And there was no one nearby to jar his ears with discordant emotion, a wonderful relief.
Tucking the deposit safely away in the main office, Ethan closed and locked the door behind him. He was careful to jimmy the handle, confirming that it had locked. Darryl could be so paranoid sometimes.
Jaiden was standing in the historical section, browsing a book on Ancient Rome. Dry reading in Ethan's opinion. He looked up as Ethan paused at the end of the aisle.
He lifted up the bag of trash he had grabbed pointedly. “I'm just going to dump this and then we can lock up and leave.”
Jaiden nodded, probably bored. It had been an uneventful, tedious night.
Taking that as agreement, Ethan lifted the bag with a rustle and headed for the side door. It was an emergency exit that led into the cramped alley, but until Ethan activated the security system, using it wouldn't sound an alarm. Besides, it was the quickest route to the dumpster without having to circle around the entire building.
A rush of cold air attacked Ethan as he stepped outside and he paused long enough to nudge the piece of concrete block into the open doorway. He didn't want to end up trapped outside, banging on the door in hopes Jaiden would hear him and deign to let him in.
Block in place, Ethan made for the dumpster about twenty paces down the alley and threw in the bag, wincing at the malodorous odor of rotting trash. Dumpsters never smelled good.
He let the lid shut with a clunk that echoed down the alley between Triple C and the Archives. It was small, narrow, and connected to Main Street on the other side. Graffitti decorated the brick in bright bursts of color and somewhere, something dripped. Probably a leaking pipe, a leftover from all the rainstorms.
Shoving his chilled hands into his pockets, Ethan turned back to the Archives. It was getting cold at night, and it was only October.
A harsh slam made Ethan startle in surprise and he whirled, finding that someone had pelted out of the back door of Lucky Mike's, a barbeque joint that was behind Triple C and faced Main Street. Whoever it was ran helter-skelter, sneakers slapping against the pavement, heading straight toward Ethan as he careened back and forth between the walls. Drunk?
No, not with those emotions. Not with the fear that struck like the discordant shriek of a violin in Psycho and lanced through Ethan's brain with such volume that he gasped, ears ringing. Ethan's knees wobbled, overcome by sheer terror that wasn't his own. He fumbled, slumping against the dumpster, a small moan slipping past his lips.
Laughter echoed in the alley, harsh and mocking. The ringing in his ears meant that Ethan could only identify it as female, high-pitched as it rang through the air.
“Running, are you?” she asked nastily, obviously not the one fleeing, her emotions closed off to Ethan. Scarily silent, as though she were a big blank spot in the universe.
Like Jaiden or Melanie. Like a Kinetic.
Panic made Ethan's stomach twist into knots, made him cover his ears futilely against the noxious sounds. He pressed against the metal of the dumpster, eyes clenching shut. He tasted blood, fear and panic bubbling in a high-pitched frequency in his ears. They were starting to hurt, making him dizzy.
“It's far too late for that,” the female Kinetic hissed mockingly and a sliver of emotion broke through her immature shielding.
Malice, dark and heavy, like a horror movie soundtrack. Like Jason or Freddie were stalking the alley, right on the heels of their victim.
Glee, light and twisted, like Pink not giving a damn.
Triumph, a trumpet call of victory, clear and clarion. It was a flash of sound, a jumble of emotions that had no business mixing together.
The running person – a man? – shrieked, too close, and Ethan didn't have words to describe what happened next. Something like a terrible wrenching, ripping noise. Like a bag of water had popped under great pressure.
Warmth splattered on Ethan's face and body, dark and wet and bitter like blood.
If there was a sound of someone dying, Ethan heard it now.
Terror and disgust lanced like an ice shard through Ethan's belly. His own emotions, for once, stark and vivid.
And She just shrieked with mad laughter, sparking Ethan's faculties into action. His panic-stricken brain could only process one command: Run.
He stumbled to his feet, hurtling without thought toward the open door of the Archives. He nearly slipped on something wet, slick and squishy and Ethan felt nausea bubble up in his belly. Acid burned at the back of his throat, and his skin was clammy, hands sweating. His heart pounded a mile a minute.
She was still laughing, the serial killer, because that was what she had to be. How could she be anything else?
Ethan fumbled over his own feet in his haste, crashing against a garbage pail, making a large noise and announcing his presence. Her amusement abruptly ended with a startled sound.
Fear nearly choked Ethan, who was certain he was next, until startlement stabbed into his ears – the sharp screech of a clarinet with a broken reed. Ethan didn't dare look over his shoulder, not even caring if he appeared a gutless coward.
He was so sure of a messy end, that it came as a surprise when he burst into the safety of the Archives, tripping on the concrete block. He tumbled to the floor, getting rug burns on his palms, and immediately flipped over, kicking out to dislodge the piece of concrete. The emergency door slammed shut and Ethan shivered, staring at it with growing dread.
Would she come after him? Would the door even be a hindrance?
His face felt sticky, his fingers gummy. A smell, like thick copper and human waste, clung to the air. Ethan touched his cheek and stared in horror at his fingers when they came away scarlet. Bits of something colorless mingled with the blood.
Ethan's gut twisted, turning over itself, and vomit burned in his throat. He was shaking and Ethan barely turned in time, spewing on the floor instead of himself. The smells and sounds clung to him like a stubborn woodland burr. His head spun dizzily and Ethan could feel himself violently trembling.
Her voice was still shrieking in the back of his head.
He'd... he'd just...
“Ethan?” Footsteps came closer, hurried but soft. Jaiden.
Swiping the back of his hand over his mouth – and only succeeding in smearing gore around – Ethan weakly turned away from his vomit and tried to focus. But the jarring threnody of the stranger's death stole his concentration like vertigo. The lights were too bright, the floor too hard, and Ethan didn't think himself capable of standing.
He wanted a shower: scalding hot with a lime scrub to scrape his skin raw. Anything to get rid of this nauseating sense of death.
“Ethan?” A hand settled on his shoulder.
He jerked away as if stung, silence sweeping over him and making his thoughts ping around inside his head. He didn't want the silence.
“The blood's not mine,” Ethan said hoarsely, throat raw and aching. He stared blankly at the nearby bookshelf, where rows of spines became a blur of colors.
He could feel Jaiden's gaze on him, heavy and unrelenting. “Then whose is it?”
“I don't...” Ethan shook his head and then regretted the action when it made him dizzier. “I don't know. Some stranger. She killed him. Right there.”
“Where? Who did?”
Ethan licked his lips, then gagged when the taste of blood touched his tongue. “In the alley,” he said, swallowing thickly, trying to keep himself from vomiting again. His belly kept doing cartwheels, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. The world wouldn't stop spinning.
Jaiden moved past him, hands at his side, fingers twitching as he headed toward the emergency exit. Ethan moved quickly, grabbing for Jaiden, trying to stop him. But the movement was too quick and Ethan groaned, his skull throbbing like someone had stabbed it with a thousand needles.
Pressing his hands against his temples, Ethan tried to breathe slowly, regain his composure. But his nerves were too raw, unready to be calmed. His heart was an anxious flutter, he couldn't catch a breath and the stench of death clung to him and the air. His clothes were wet and squishy. He could feel it caking his skin.
The back door slammed shut as Jaiden returned. “Whoever she was, she's gone now.” His lips curled with disgust and even he looked faintly ill. “She left her handiwork behind.”
Ethan's gut churned.
“We should leave,” Jaiden added, his eyes flicking over Ethan's appearance. “We can't afford the cops suspecting you of anything.”
“But--”
Jaiden's eyes flashed. “Whoever he was, there's nothing we can do for him anymore. Right now, you're the one in danger.”
Too rattled to argue, Ethan nodded mutely and forced himself to his feet. He pulled out the keys with trembling fingers and locked the emergency exit, cuing the alarms. He turned, staring in dismay at his own vomit on the carpet. He couldn't leave it there all night.
It was a mindless task to focus on, something to keep him from breaking out into a raw, hyperventilating panic. Something to keep him from completely losing himself.
He grabbed cleaner and paper towels and scrubbed the floor until all that was left was a slightly darker wet patch that should dry by morning. It might be a little stained, but at least the air would smell lemon-fresh instead of vomit-bitter.
He hoped that by focusing on the mundane, he wouldn't fall into pathetic hysterics. Or at least, that was what he intended. But when he went into the bathroom, and caught sight of himself in the mirror, blood and.... other things splattered on his face, Ethan lost it. He bent, dry heaving over the sink, gripping the pale grey ceramic with white-knuckled fingers.
Dragging in several aching breaths, Ethan struggled for composure. He twisted on the tap and grabbed a handful of paper towels. He wetted them with the steaming hot water and scrubbed at his face and hair. He refused to watch the swirling water turn pink. It would only make him gag again.
She killed him.
The female Kinetic – which ruled out Taylor, who would have at least been a known factor – had blown that man to pieces. And she'd laughed. Out of pride or amusement, Ethan didn't know and didn't want to guess. Either way, she was crazy.
He clenched his teeth and washed his hands, scrubbing and scrubbing with the hot water on full blast. He would not scream or cry, he told himself firmly. His pride couldn't take any further beating.
Ethan closed his eyes, unwilling to look in the mirror at is own half-crazed, half-terrified expression. Would she have killed him, too? Had she seen him? Ethan couldn't remember being this scared of Taylor, but then, he hadn't seen Taylor rip someone to pieces.
The flow of water cut off and Ethan hadn't done it. His eyes popped open, catching sight of Jaiden pulling back. The sink glugged as the last of the water drained and Ethan stared at his own hands; they were cherry-red.
“We should leave,” Jaiden said, his voice revealing nothing. Not scorn or pity or mockery or disgust. He could have felt all those things and Ethan would never know because he couldn't Hear Jaiden.
Ethan hated that uncertainty.
He nodded and grabbed a paper towel to dry his hands. They stung a bit, feeling raw, but Ethan only had himself to blame.
While locking up the Archives, Ethan was ridiculously glad for Jaiden's presence. He felt on edge now, startling at the smallest sounds, even that of passing vehicles. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, a reaction that only got worse as they crossed the emptied parking lot.
He saw it immediately, the folded piece of white paper under his windshield wipers. Part of him wanted to ignore its presence. Other parts snapped at him for being such a coward.
Ethan hoped his fingers weren't trembling as he plucked the piece of paper free. It was think, almost like receipt paper, and unfolding it revealed a single sentence in simple, black lettering.
I Know Who You Are.
There was no signature.
His breath caught in his throat, fingers crumpling the paper before Ethan thought better of it. This was evidence.
Evidence he could not take to the police.
Jaiden stepped up beside him, reading over his shoulder. He snorted. “Theatricality is Taylor's style, but this is too simple – and legible – to be from him.”
“I knew that much,” Ethan hissed, casting a wary glance around the deserted parking lot. He saw no one but himself and Jaiden.
An eerie prickle danced down Ethan's spine. Maybe he was paranoid, but Ethan wasn't taking any chances. He shoved the note in his pocket and quickly moved to the driver's side.
“Let's get out of here,” he muttered, climbing into the Honda and locking the door behind him.
“Where?”
A good question. Ethan had the keys to a new apartment courtesy of Mrs. Lazer but he doubted it had much in the name of comfort or amenities. And no way was Ethan going home to Jeanine with himself in this state. Besides, his mother might get it in her mind that he'd changed his mind about living at home while getting his Bachelor's.
“Dray's,” Ethan answered as the Honda rumbled to life. “His parents won't mind and he has plenty of room.” And a change of clothes. Ethan had zipped his coat over his stained shirt, but he couldn't hide the splatters on his jeans. He could only hope they slipped by Thomas', Dray's father, notice.
o0o0o
It was past eleven by the time Ethan pulled up at Dray's, the huge three story house never failing to awe Ethan. It was modeled on the old plantations in the Carolinas, Thomas being a history buff.
Dray must have been watching the driveway because he opened the front door before Ethan could even ring the bell. His cheerful grin faltered as he took in Ethan's appearance, and his brown eyes widened. No doubt disturbed by the blood Ethan hadn't managed to hide.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dray blurted as he pushed open the door and invited them inside for the second night in a row. “I thought you were closing up the Archives.”
“I did,” Ethan muttered dully, unwilling to recount the story but he knew Dray wouldn't let it go. “And while I was taking out the trash, I met the Valda Bomber.”
Dray blinked, shocked, as he ushered them through the hall to the back staircase. No doubt he didn't want his parents to see them.
“What the fuck? And you're still alive?”
Ethan grimaced. “I got lucky. Caught her off guard and ran like hell the first chance I got.” He paused, sobering his tone. “She's not your average psychopath, Dray. She's a Kinetic.”
“Damn,” Dray breathed, and dragged a hand through his hair. “That's not good, Ethan. Did she see you?”
“Worse.” His stomach twisted back into knots. “She knows who I am.”
“That could be seen as a good thing,” Jaiden suggested quietly. “It narrows down our suspects.”
“Yeah, but at the cost of Ethan's safety! What if the bitch decides to come after him next?”
Ethan wasn't feeling so well. In fact, he might need another place to vomit soon. “Thanks, Adrayan. I was trying not to think about that.”
At the top of the stairs, Dray pushed them toward the right wing, sectioned off for his personal use. “Don't call my full name like that,” Dray muttered. “And I'm just trying to be realistic.”
“Ethan needn't worry. I am here,” Jaiden said, as though there were no greater truth.
Dray snorted. “Yeah, but you're just one man. Sure you got awesome powers, but you can't be everywhere at once.”
“Let me use your shower,” Ethan said loudly, wanting to desperately change the subject. His nerves were shot, and his guts churned. His innards did not like all this anxiety.
Dray didn't protest and Ethan had been here enough times that he knew the way. As he turned down the corridor, away from Dray and Jaiden, he knew they were watching him with concern. Dray was radiating so much worry that Ethan couldn't block him out. And on the other side of the huge house, Dray's parents were a jarring symphony that offended Ethan's sensitive empathy.
In the bath, a massive room of marbled tile and fancy towels, Ethan stripped out of his blood-soaked garments and stepped gratefully into steaming hot water. He let it beat on his back and shoulders for a long while until he felt like grabbing a bar of soap to start scrubbing. He watched dully as some of the water turned pink when the rest of the victim's blood washed away.
Ethan's stomach rolled again, so he closed his eyes, focused on the staccato song of the shower and scrubbed himself raw. He didn't feel clean, but he supposed that peace of mind would be a long time coming.
Knocking on the door startled Ethan out of his stupor. The door opened before Ethan could invite the visitor inside.
“Yo! You still alive in there?” Dray asked, just sticking an ear to the crack in the door. Ethan could see his reflection in the foggy mirror.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dray. I've not passed out or had a panic attack. I'm fine.”
“Really?” Dray sounded skeptical. “You've been in here for thirty minutes. If not for Thomas' insistence on huge water heaters, you'd be ice.”
Blinking, Ethan looked at his fingers; they were quite pruny. “I'm getting out now,” he said, over the shower's spray, and turned to cut off the stream.
“I'll bring you some clothes,” Dray said and the door clicked shut behind him.
Thirty minutes? Really?
Ethan grabbed the fluffy black towel and stepped out onto an equally fluffy bathmat. He dried off quickly, feeling oddly vulnerable in his nudity, and wrapped the thick towel around his waist.
Had he honestly spent thirty minutes in the shower? It had felt shorter, like a mere ten minutes standing under the spray.
At least he finally felt clean. He would never wear those clothes again.
Turning toward the mirror, Ethan swiped a palm over the condensation. Red-rimmed brown eyes stared back at him, so bloodshot he almost looked alien. Ethan needed sleep in a bad way. But he also had a new apartment to move into, a couple of exams to study for, and a serial killer to elude. When would he have time to rest?
Dray's knocking startled Ethan out of his reverie. This time, Dray at least had the good sense to wait to be acknowledged, only coming inside when Ethan opened the door.
“Okay, so I brought you some sweats I never wore and one of Thomas' shirts. That all right?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “I'm going to sleep in them not strut down a runway.”
Clothes were shoved into his arms. “A thank you would be nice.” Dray sniffed in mock offense. “Jaiden is in the blue room. You know which one I mean.”
“Yeah.” Ethan pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric sitting light and loose over is shoulders. “And me?”
Dray snorted. “Same as always. You know you're the son Tiffany wished she had.”
“You say that all the time. It's just because they don't know me.”
Dray waved a hand of dismissal. “Yeah, yeah.” He paused, looking Ethan over with a critical eye. “You sure you're all right?”
“I'm fine,” Ethan retorted, putting emphasis on the words. “Now go on.”
“If you say so.” Dray turned toward the door, pausing as his hand curled around the knob. “Say... you're going to give me a ride to class tomorrow, right?”
Ethan lifted his brow. “Thought Thomas let you have your car back?”
Dray laughed nervously, scratching at his chin. “Yeah... about that...”
Rolling his eyes, Ethan shook his head. “Yes, you mooch, I will give you a ride.”
“Says the man crashing at his friend's house for the second day in a row, despite having a perfectly good home to go to,” Dray retorted, and made himself scarce, leaving Ethan time to breathe and ponder.
Tonight, he'll be damned lucky to sleep without nightmares.
* * * *
a/n: Shit just got real. Poor Ethan. But such things are necessary. I hope you enjoyed. I'm particularly proud of this chapter.
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Also, don't forget that tomorrow is Flash Fiction Friday!
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Feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Also, don't forget that tomorrow is Flash Fiction Friday!
Previous Chapter I Next Chapter
