There was a loud, electric whine and Estella screamed out in agony from her bed as she fought with everything she had left to stay connected. The distortion appeared to become solid, looking like a shimmering wall of glass filled with lightning that became closer and closer, shooting at them like a missile.
Fearing whatever was about to collide with them and what would happen to her if her mind was still connected to his when it did she severed the link and concentrated on returning to her body. Despite this, the static shriek seemed to follow her as she felt the pull back to her own body.
Falling back into her vomit-covered body, she was still distantly aware of the sound and suddenly very aware of an excruciating pain in her right eye.
The reintroduction to her body caused her chest to heave from a lack of oxygen—she’d yet to figure out how to control her breathing when outside her body—and she rolled to her side as she heaved and threw up once again.
No longer held to her host’s thoughts and desires, the realization of what she had seen pulled a terror-fueled shriek from her lungs and her thrashing body fell from the bed.
A moment later her mother’s voice issued out along with her approaching steps as they ascended the stairs, “Stella? Honey, is everything okay?”
Estella looked down at herself—sweat-and-puke-drenched and beat-red from heaving for air—and realized she did not want to be walked in on.
Some things, she thought as she pulled herself up, are just beyond explanation.
Throwing herself against the door and propping it shut, she tried to muster enough air in her lungs to speak, “I-I’m fine, Mom! Just had a bad dream.”
The rushing footsteps slowed to a reluctant stop a short distance from her; Estella could hear her mother’s worried breathing through the door, “You sure? You were screaming bloody murder!”
Estella held back a nervous laugh at the irony of her mom’s statement, “I know, Mom. But I’m okay. Really.”
An uncomfortable silence followed, and although Estella’s lungs still ached, she held her breath and waited for the sound of her mother’s footsteps going back down the stairs. Once she was sure that a trip through the hall would be unobserved, she hurried down the stairs and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her and turning on the shower to the hottest her skin could tolerate. The running water served to mask her sobs as she let her body sink into the tub.
“Xander…” she whispered, “What’s happened to you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Seeing red again/The hard goodbye
The music was far too loud and added to Xander’s already throbbing head. He cringed at the melodic invasion and dug himself deeper into the cushioned surface he found himself on in an attempt to drown it out, groaning in pain as he shifted. A drum solo kicked in and he cried out in pain.
“Xander? You awake, buddy?”
He groaned again as he shifted his body—careful to move slower in an attempt to avoid any more aches—and felt his arm drop over the edge of whatever he was lying on. As gravity tugged at his injuries he let out another pained moan.
The music silenced then, plunging the swirling darkness behind his eyelids into silence. Finally able to hear himself think, he wondered why his eyes hadn’t opened yet.
“Hey,” a familiar voice called out again, “c’mon, Stryker! Show me you’re still alive!”
Xander whimpered in response as he pulled his arm back to his chest and turned around; he didn’t care where he was, how long he’d been out, or even how he’d survived being hit by what had felt like a bomb—especially since it felt like he’d taken almost all the impact on his head. He just wanted to slip back into unconsciousness until the pain was something close to bearable.
“Come on, Xander!” he finally recognized the voice as Marcus’, “Open your damn eyes and tell me you’re at least not blind!”
“That’s… not… funny!” Xander took in a deep breath to try and combat the agony in his chest as well as the Antichrist that was birthing itself through his skull.
“It’s not supposed to be, bud. Now open wide and tell me what you see,” there was a faint slurping.
Xander sighed and strained his eyelids to open and cried out in pain.
Marcus sighed, “Yea, Stan said you’d be hurting for a while. He did all he could on you, but there’s only so much that magic can do.” Xander noticed his voice get louder as he approached, then another brief slurp, “All things considered, it’s a damn miracle that you’re even alive!”
Xander frowned at that and turned his head towards Marcus’ voice and tried to open his eyes again. There was another pinch at his temples as he did, but he held them open through the agony and looked up at Marcus, who stood over him with two medical bags of blood, one of which he had opened and was sipping from with a crazy-straw. He started to laugh at the sight but a sharp pain in his spine stopped him.
“Stan?” he gritted his teeth and rode out the sensation, “You know him?”
Marcus scoffed, “There aren’t many in the Odin Clan who don’t—” He frowned, “… Who didn’t know of Stanly Ferno. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
Xander shook his head. “Depok said something…” He sighed, “What was Stan doing at the mansion anyway?”
“I’ve learned better than to question Stan and his methods,” Marcus answered, “Either way, he saved your life; though we were both concerned about your vision.”
An itch in Xander’s right eye distracted his thoughts and he tried to blink it away, noticing that his vision was blurred. As he tried to focus, he looked back up at Marcus, frowning as he noticed a bluish, fluid-looking haze that surrounded him.
“I… I can see just fine,” he lied and pulled himself to a sitting position, riding out the resulting pain with a deep exhale. “So what was with that insanely loud wake-up call?”
Marcus frowned and plopped the spare bag of blood on the coffee table in front of him. “Sorry. Stan said you’d be out for a while and that it’d take the apocalypse to wake you,” he shrugged and sat in a nearby chair that had seen better days. “Figured I’d be able to relax for a bit without bothering you.”
Xander scoffed, his vision beginning to clear but the shimmering blue outline remaining around Marcus, “Heavy metal relaxes you?”
“So I’ve changed some with the times. What? You gonna tell me I’m too old to like that kind of music?” Marcus challenged.
“Well, no,” Xander shook his head, “But it relaxes you?”
Marcus frowned. “Well if that’s the way you’re going to be, would you rather listen to Britney-fucking-Spears or something else that parallels your insatiable teen angst?” he glared and took a sip of blood.
Xander couldn’t argue, though he still felt that, when one was suffering from the King Kong of headaches, perhaps calmer tunes would suffice. He rubbed his forehead and let his eyes close again, “What happened anyway?”
He heard Marcus shift in his seat, “Somebody came gunning for you while you were undergoing the change.” He sighed and slurped again.
“Do you know who?” Xander asked, moving his hand up to rub his itchy right eye.
“WHOA! HEY! NO!” Marcus shot up and grabbed his hand so fast Xander didn’t see him move from his seat, “Stan said it’d be best if you didn’t touch that eye for a while.”
Xander frowned, thinking back as far as he could. The last thing he remembered he was drinking from the two humans near the dojo… and then the blurry figure.
He looked up at Marcus as he sipped again from the nearly empty bag of blood and then eyed the other one that had been put in front of him. Though his body urged him to reach out and take the offered blood, there were more important things at hand.
“So do you know who’s responsible for what happened?” he asked again.
“We’re not sure,” Marcus looked away. “Whoever it was knew enough to cover their tracks, and cover them pretty damn well, too! Stan tried to scan the history of the place—
whatever the hell that means—but came up with nothing. Apparently there were psychic blocks set up.”
Xander looked down and tried to remember more, but aside from the sharp impact from what could only have been a flying brick wall he couldn’t recall anything. As he pondered his last moments in the Odin mansion, Marcus rose to his feet and stepped over to a bookshelf and pulled something from the top shelf. Xander looked away; still irritated by the strange blue outline around Marcus.
Though the blurriness had faded, it still remained…
“Where am I?” he asked.
“My apartment,” Marcus answered, “I told you I was taking some time off, remember?” He scoffed and shook his head, “Guess I should consider myself lucky.”
Xander bit his lip; something in Marcus’ voice sounded regretful and he wondered if the vampire would have rather died with his comrades.
Marcus lingered a moment longer at the bookcase before he turned back and headed towards his chair again. “I hated the formality of the mansion,” he explained, “So I asked Depok a while back if I could be excused from the cushy room they had given me.” He set a familiar wooden box down beside Xander’s still-untouched bag of blood, “Stan said these are yours.”
Xander reached out and pulled the box towards him, feeling the instinctual rise of fear and sadness in his gut that he’d had each night he pulled it out from under his mattress back at home. The silver clasp that held the lid shut felt cool to the touch as he flipped it open and he pulled back the velvet sheet that served to protect the twin revolvers and, for the first time since the day he was dragged into the new world, he looked down at Yin and Yang.
They looked the same as they had the last time he’d seen them and, startled, he looked up at Marcus, “How were they not destroyed in the fire?”
Marcus shrugged. “Like I said: don’t question Stan,” he smiled and looked at the guns, “Pretty sweet pieces. They would’ve served well in battle.”
Xander narrowed his eyes as he hoisted Yin from the velvet lining and realized that it felt lighter; the cold handle feeling more at home in his grip than ever before. He inspected the modified eight-round chamber, finding that it still held the same one bullet that, time and time again, had refused to take him. He thought about what he’d seen in the mansion; the massacred and vandalized bodies of those he had met.
All because of him.
He set the black revolver back down in the case. They still might serve him well…
“Stan said he wanted to see you at his place when you were up and ready to move around again,” Marcus said after a long silence. He chuckled and shook his head, looking Xander square in the eye, “Crimson Shadow.”
Xander looked up at that, “Huh?”
Marcus’ grin widened; the strange blue haze around him bubbling and turning brighter. “Stan ‘heard’ your thoughts when you made your first kill,” he nodded and said it again: “The ‘Crimson Shadow’. I like it.” He chuckled again, “Suits you. I guess ‘Xander’ wasn’t a badass enough title, huh?”
Xander felt his face redden and rubbed at the back of his neck.
Marcus continued to laugh as he leaned forward in his seat, “So to Stan’s then?”
Xander nodded; it would be a refreshing face to see after all the things that had transpired. He locked up the case and, feeling an itch welling up, went to rub his right eye again.
“Dude! Careful! Your eye is pretty fucked up! I’m not sure if you should be touching it!” Marcus barked at him.
Xander growled in aggravation. “What in the hell is the matter with it anyway?”
“Chill out! After the hit you took, you’re lucky to still have a head attached to your shoulders!”
Xander bit his lip in confusion. “The hit?”
Marcus nodded, “Most of the ones that swarmed in and dusted the place left after a few hours, but I guess you were lucky enough to meet a straggler.” Xander stared at him and Marcus sighed, “It was a very powerful auric; one that threw quite a lot of mind-popping shit at you!”
Xander looked at him, still confused.
Marcus shifted. “Look: what I’m trying to tell you is that the energy blast that you took should have killed you, or at the very least landed you in a padded cell with a bib for the rest of your life.”
“That doesn’t explain my eye,” Xander countered.
Marcus growled, shaking his head, “God you’re an asshole! Being your father’s son, you were born with”—he frowned and smacked his lips—“well Stan had some cute words for them. Let’s just say ‘parts’ that weren’t ‘turned on’. When the auric attack hit you, instead of shutting everything down, it flipped the switch on them.”
Xander glared, “So some auric ‘turned on’ my ‘parts’? You’re not making any goddam sense! And you still haven’t told me shit about my—”
Marcus shot a look, “Listen, the machinery of your brain jumpstarting gave you quite a tremor. Stan said when he found you your nose and ears were bleeding all to shit and your right eye…” Xander leaned forward, eager to have an answer, “… well, you flood the head with enough blood and I guess there’s going to be some staining,” Marcus finished with a nervous laugh.
Xander frowned and got up, “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hall to your left; hall light’s busted, not that it makes a difference to us anyway.”
Xander realized that he was right. Despite the ‘L’-shaped hallway having no source of illumination, he had no problems finding the bathroom door. Though he had just realized it was unnecessary, he flipped both of the light switches on the wall, flooding the room in light.
Steadying himself in front of the mirror, he saw for the first time why his right eye was so itchy. Leaning in close to the glass, he could see that it was—as Marcus had put it—blood-stained. The whites of the eye had turned red and his hazel iris had been buried as well; a dark ring amidst the sea of red serving as a reminder that it had even existed.
His entire right eye, except for the pupil, had turned blood-red!
“What. The. Fuck,” Xander whispered as he stretched his lid open to inspect it, seeing that there was no trace of white left. When he had had enough of the ugly truth, he went back to the living room and snatched the bag of blood from the table and downed it in several gulps. As he finished the last drop of the uncomfortably cold fluid, he licked his lips and grabbed his guns. Turning to Marcus, he frowned, seeing that the blue haze still surrounded him. Discomforted by this, he looked away again. “So are we going to Stan’s or what?”
****
Growing up without a father, Xander had grown close to his mother, which, until the emergence of Kyle, had gotten him labeled as a “mama’s boy.” When the terror known as “Kyle” entered the household and took his mother, he became reliant on himself. Not playing with his classmates stirred up concern from the teachers, who began to think he was “special,” while the kids just called him “weird.” As he grew up with the views of his peers making him feel less and less a part of the world, Xander began to resent and eventually hate them, and “special” turned into “psychotic” and “weird” turned into “freak.”
Walking into school each morning with fresh bruises made him a “klutz” to the kids, and a fear of physical contact got him labeled as “socially anxious” with the faculty. When he missed the bus on purpose to not go home and instead stayed in the playground, talking to himself when he was sure nobody was looking, the teachers began to write “runaway” in their notebooks and asked him if his mother hurt him. Kyle had always warned him about discussing “family matters” outside of the home, and when questions like those arose, he could only sob and swear that he’d given himself the bruises. Then the teachers wrote bigger words in their notebooks that put him in the school shrink’s office.
After an entire childhood filled with labels, Xander hated the idea of judgment. Even more so he hated the feeling of being a hypocrite by passing judgment. Despite this, he felt that a
top warrior for a once powerful vampire clan would drive something better than a rusted-out white Subaru circa nineteen-why-the-fuck-is-it-still-running.
Nevertheless, it was a car and it was taking them where they needed to go.
Stan lived in the ritzier part of town, which just happened to be a thirty-minute drive from the city where Marcus had decided to rent the two-bedroom apartment in a complex across the street from an adult bookstore and an Asian market.
Xander was still working out which was weirder: the vampire warrior that had a room in a mansion deciding to live in a ratty apartment, or a single, public school teacher living in a three-story home in a neighborhood where the biggest recent crime had been when the Swansons had accidentally opened their neighbors mail after a delivery mix-up, when they finally pulled up to the light blue house.
Marcus laughed. “Strange crib for someone who’s been called a ‘devil’,” he muttered as he threw his shoulder into the driver’s side door to get it open.
Xander figured he’d keep the ever-growing list of comments he had concerning Marcus’ car and apartment to himself and instead followed after with the case tucked under his left arm.
The patio light was on, and, standing on the front porch, Stan was already waiting for them. Xander couldn’t help but smile at his friend as he walked in and headed over to the living room where he and Stan used to sit and play chess. There he found his tiger companion sprawled out on the floor in front of the fireplace as it warmed the house against the fresh November chill. He smiled at the sight, glad that he was safe.
Stan took his time in closing the door and turned to Marcus with a grin as they both said in unison, “Got any decent beer on tap?” and exploded into laughter.
Xander frowned, feeling that he was missing a good joke.
Noir: A Crimson Shadow Novel Page 19
