My Little Ventrue Pt. 06 Ch. 08

Christ, that'd suck. It was why Kindred groomed a potential childe before embracing them; you kept your physical body at the point of the embrace, except for what the Kindred body could heal. His scars on his stomach would never heal, because they were fresh and extreme at the time of his embrace, to the point they were more of a deformity than a simple wound, and the embrace kept physical differences like that. Spending eternity with a nasty problem like being overweight, underweight, or being old, would be horrible.

Old. His mom? No, she wasn't old, not yet. In her mid forties and in great shape, since she'd put her life together. Would the embrace undo the damage of the coma? The brain damage? Would—

He shook his head, and sighed. Stop thinking about it. Stop it. Stop it.

"Want to talk about it?" Clara said.

"What?"

"About whether you'll embrace your mother." She managed a small smile, but he could tell it was her trying to hide how much sadness she was feeling for him. It made him angry, for a moment, before he let it go. She was doing a better job of meeting his gaze than other people. Least he could do was not snap at her.

"Me? I can't. I... I could try, I guess. But, it's very draining on a vampire to create a childe, very... raw, on the soul."

She frowned with a glance before looking ahead again. The rest of the crew was behind them, but could hear the conversation, no doubt. "I guess that's why Kindred don't spread like a virus in the cities where we've run into them. Not a fast virus, anyway."

"Indeed," Isabella said. "We invest a part of ourselves into our childer. It can take months, or even years to recover from it."

A part of themselves. A piece of Julias was inside him, and Viktor, and whoever came before. He shivered, and forced down the nasty thoughts.

"I... I don't really want to... to talk about it." Sighing, he put his hands in his pockets, and lowered his head. He did want to talk about it, but not with them. Maybe with Julias, maybe with Antoinette, but for now, no.

"Just as well you cannot spread quickly," Athalia said. "The planet doesn't need a plague like that to deal with."

Jack twitched, but kept walking. No, don't escalate that argument. You have a job to do. Focus on that.

Gloria didn't seem to agree. "Plague? Kindred are not a plague! We are what we choose to be. Unlike you." Jack looked back to see Gloria glaring at Athalia, and flicking her wrist at her a few times.

Athalia snarled at her, a raspy hiss that earned a squeak from the Mekhet. "Don't mistake Dolareido for most cities with a vampire presence. The nature of vampires is to spread, slowly but surely, and take over, while turning humans into livestock."

Isabella stopped, stepped between Gloria and Athalia, and glared at her. "We do not. Kindred are forever balanced upon a knife's edge, wrestling with our past, our new selves, and our connections. Unlike monsters such as you, we never make decisions carelessly." Gloria might have been quiet, but Isabella was not.

"Careless?"

"You got pregnant, didn't you? What business does a monster have getting pregnant?"

Athalia glared at the vampire, and ground her teeth hard enough everyone could hear it. "Don't assume you understand my life, leech."

"I've lived a lot longer than you, monster, and I have seen and spoken with hundreds, thousands of kine. I know more about life than you ever will. You are the definition of a poor mother."

Everyone froze, and stared. Ok, that was harsh. That was very harsh. Not that everyone hadn't been thinking it, but Jack tried to keep an open mind. Athalia gave her kid up to an orphanage when she realized she couldn't control the circumstances her horror created. That was reasonable, wasn't it?

Much as that's how his mind arranged the thoughts, logically speaking, he knew the acid boiling in his guts had a different idea. As far as the venom he wanted to spit was concerned, Athalia was a bitch who deserved to suffer, because of her daughter. Jack hated himself for feeling that, but he did, and he did his best to put the illogical feelings aside.

"Ladies," Clara said, "we're not out here to fight each other. We're supposed to be hunting."

"Exactly." Athalia walked past them all, and didn't bother to dodge hitting Jack with her shoulder on the way past him. "I don't have to explain my life to any of you."

Jack glared daggers into the tall, dark-skinned woman's back. Her long black hair bounced against her back as she marched forward. Images of grabbing her hair, and whipping her into the side of the tunnel danced through his mind. It'd be wrong, it'd be horrible, but just a taste of that revenge against Angela through her bitch of a mother would be great. Great, and disgusting. Sickening. You know it won't help you, Jack, so let it go.

"I wonder," Isabella said, "if Jack's poor mother is indeed embraced, what will she do, when she learns her daughter's been murdered, by your daughter."

"Everyone is someone's son or daughter," Athalia said, rage only growing. "The fuck do you want from me, vampire?"

"I want some truth and effort on your part, monster." With a shrug and sinister smile, Isabella slipped ahead of Athalia, stopping her, and began to circle her, her vampire tendencies showing through clear as night. Circling prey. "Mister Terry's report on what happened in the gargoyle creature's nightmare was... forgiving, in how it described your interactions. But I know mothers. What did you say that prevented her death, hmm? What words did you use to save your daughter's much desired execution?"

Jack was surprised Isabella got her hands on the full report. It was for council and Right Hands only. A good argument to be wary of using technology to record everything, he supposed. And it was true that he hadn't explained in great detail the final moments of the fight, only that Jeremiah had shown up and saved Angela at the last moment. That Athalia had begged him to spare Angela at the last moment? He didn't write that down, not in so many words anyway. Isabella was an ancilla vampire, smart, and had both the permission to access high level reports, and the intelligence to read between the lines.

No wonder she resented him for being picked as Right Hand over her.

"I'm trying to stop the hunters, my daughter included."

"Will you kill your daughter?"

Jack already knew the answer to that question. Isabella wanted to know, though, and she had reason to. But god damn it, now was not the time to have this argument.

"No. I will detain her."

Isabella scoffed, and folded her arms under her breasts. The corset under her jacket had, of course, made sure both breasts were high and bulging, and she kept the top few buttons of her jacket open so they were on display. When mixed with the ice cold gaze she was giving, it really made her look like a cruel mistress. She'd give Antoinette a run for her money, in presentation.

"You might detain her, but the rest of us will kill her the moment we get a chance." Laughing, Isabella flicked her wrist, in a far more posh manner than Gloria had managed, and began walking again. "Or, perhaps, a Kindred will embrace her? What delightful revenge against a hunter, making them into the thing they hate."

Isabella didn't get far before Athalia grabbed her shoulder and turned her around.

"Don't touch my daughter."

"We'll cross that bridge," Clara said, "when we get to it. It's pretty obvious she's under Jeremiah's influence, maybe Elen's too. There's no reason to think Angela is—"

"Angela is guilty," Jack said. They all looked at him, but he kept his eyes on the tracks underneath them. "I've looked her in the eye, saw into her... into her. She knew damn well what she was doing."

Sighing, Athalia walked ahead of them, and ran a hand along the curving walls of the tunnels. "I can't apologize for her, but I don't want to kill her. She's my daughter. I want to capture her, and show her—"

"Show her what?" Clara said, voice growing louder, far more than Jack expected from her. She'd been rather stable in this argument, and now suddenly not. Why? "Show her her mom's a monster, but she shouldn't be trying to kill you?"

"I—"

Clara stomped up to her, loud enough to make Athalia stop and turn to face her. "You're going to get people killed on a fool's mission, Athalia. Your daughter's a hunter, and psychotic, like many of them are. Ever convince a hunter, ever, in your life to not hunt monsters? Werewolves and vampires, maybe. Maybe! Maybe, because there's a connection to being human there. But monsters? A hunter looks at you and thinks they've found a literal incarnation of the thing that goes bump in the night."

"That... that is..." She didn't have to say it, they all knew what she was going to say. 'I am that incarnation'.

Jack found himself squeezing his hands into fists, until they stared to hurt. Literal monsters, they all were.

He remembered the thoughts he had, when he was trapped in that chair, being tortured. Athalia still had hope that there could be communication between hunters and monsters; he didn't. There was no talking, no communicating, no bargaining with these people. Vampires, werewolves, and monsters, trying to be the good guys? No. No, fuck that. Fuck that, fuck them, fuck it all.

He turned around, and started walking in the other direction.

"Jack?" Clara said.

"I'm going home. Sweep's over."

"Mister Terry?" Gloria said.

He didn't look back, didn't check to see if anyone was following him. He heard Clara's footsteps for a moment, and he damn well knew if he looked back, she'd be holding a hand out, silently asking him to not go.

He left anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mary's body hadn't started to decompose yet. It wouldn't, not for a little while, at least. The morgue was cool, and the metal cupboards they kept people in colder. And, he knew, corpses were cleaned and disinfected. It'd start to decompose eventually though, until someone embalmed it, and prepared it for a funeral.

Of course, there was no one to do that. Grandparents? All dead. Aunts and uncles? None that would make the trip to Dolareido for a funeral, for a sister who never talked to them anymore. Maybe it was a Terry thing, for family to become separated in some fashion or another. That made his mom, and Mary's post-Jack relationship unique, how the two bonded and became best friends—or so it had looked through the windows of their home.

"I remember," he said to Mary, smiling down at her as he pulled up a stool and sat beside her, "when you ran away, after dad died. I thought you were the most stupid girl on the planet, and a coward. A coward for running away, and stupid for not having planned it out at all."

She didn't say a word. That was good. He wasn't looking for a conversation, just someone to listen to him.

"And I was right, of course. You were stupid, and a coward. But so was I." Smiling, he reached out, and touched her shoulder with the back of his knuckle, grazing the bare skin, white sheet pulled down enough to expose her face, shoulders, and collar bone. "I just ran inward, instead of outward. We both abandoned Mom, but you came back. I... I never really did, did I?" He grazed her shoulder a few more times, half hoping it'd wake her up. "Just, put a wall between me and everyone else. Pathetic, I know. And I kept that wall there, until I grew into it, stunted, misshapen. Miserable."

What would Mary say to that? She was as much an airhead as Mom, and didn't have an introspective bone in her body. Like Fiona, she was happy because she lived in the moment, with no thoughts to get in the way. He was envious of her.

Maybe he shouldn't be. People who had little introspective ability ran headfirst into dangerous situations. Like, running away from home. That's what he told himself, thinking he was being smart and correct with his approach to life, using his stupid sister as an example. But then, unlike him, she made a mistake, and learned from it, like running away from home and coming back. He didn't make mistakes, and thus, learned nothing.

He was a child, incapable of growing up, because he was too afraid to take risks and get hurt.

"But, hey, I'm trying. You might just be proud of me, Mary. I've stuck my head out, and my balls, and even tried to shut my brain off for a while in some situations. Beautiful woman told me to kiss her, and I did. Best relationship I could hope for."

Mary said nothing.

"I even did some other stupid shit I'm happy to have done. Nearly got killed, defending her against a psycho with a sword. Psycho with the sword is my friend now. Don't get me wrong, I still hesitate to let myself out emotionally, all the time. Especially now, especially with this... this thing, inside me." Groaning, he stood up, and started to pace around, shoes making quiet clack sounds against the solid floor. With nothing but metal cupboards around, filled with dead people, the sound echoed. "Now, I'm not so sure I should let myself out of the box, you know? Every time I do, this fucking thing inside me starts barking, and roaring, and clawing at me, trying to get out."

Mary said nothing.

"I told Ann, told her about it, and how it's triggering some 'rage' issues inside me." He air-quoted rage. It wasn't a strong enough word. "Feels like I'm possessed by some spirit of wrath every time I so much as think about Angela. And that was before she killed you." He stopped at his sister's feet, and set his hands on the metal table. "She killed you. Stabbed you a whole bunch of times. And Mom." Sighing, he put up his hands. "Mom's still alive, for now. Life support. But, she was stabbed more times than you. She'll probably die."

With a slow step, he started to pace around again, circling the whole room, hands in his pockets. "That fucking woman, Angela. Scars, glass eye, I know she's been through some shit. And her mom? Nothing like our mom. Athalia is cold, angry, bitter, and if circumstances were different, she'd probably be cruel and nasty. I've tried to lend her a hand, help her integrate into the city, but that's not going well. Thought I made progress, but then her daughter fucked everything up." Groaning, he threw up his hands, and stared at the ceiling. "Athalia is worth helping, worth trying to help. But, she doesn't want to kill her daughter. She's stuck between a rock and a hard place, and so am I."

Mary said nothing.

"What do you think? If I kill Angela, and I know I will, Athalia becomes my enemy; assuming she doesn't stop me from killing Angela. But... but she killed you, Mary. You have to say something to that."

He walked over to her, and leaned down over her, one hand on the table by her shoulder, the other on her chin, her cheek, touching her with a skimming knuckle. "The last thing I ever said to you, did to you, was mind control you, wiped your memory of our encounter. You could have known I was alive. It would have been our little secret." Her eyes stirred. No, they didn't. He was staring at a corpse, expecting it to wake up, and his mind was desperate to see that. There was no stirring. "Can... can you... please wake up? I'm getting torn every which way, Mary. All I have are regrets, and... and it'd... it'd be great if you could wake up, and wash away one of those for me?" He stared, waiting, watching, but Mary denied him, holding perfectly still. "Please... I'm begging you. I... I've made so many mistakes, and not the good kind. I ruined so many... so many things, from my first life, and now you're gone, and I can't fix them. Please come back."

Mary said nothing.

"I need to fix this! I have to fix it! I have to fix it... fix it... It's what I do, right? I fix things, get them working again. I did that for us plenty, when we lived together, right? Fixed your computer so many times. Fixed the stupid washing machine; took a whole god damn week of reading to figure out how, but I did, right? Fixed the DVD player. Remember when you were complaining about taxes, and I had to explain tax brackets to you? Fixed that for you.

"Been fixing things for my new friends and family too! Fixed the Viktor and Tony problem, fixed the Lucas problem, and now I'm some kind of peace maker between all the paranormals. Fixing those problems, making sure everyone gets along. I helped fix a spider problem! Remember how many spiders I killed for you, back at Mom's? Like that, except a lot bigger."

Mary said nothing.

He slammed his fist against the table, causing Mary to tremble. "I can't fix this if you don't get up! I can't fix anything if you don't get up! Please!"

Gulping down on the dry death in his throat, he set both elbows on the metal table, and rested his forehead to the cold material. His palms buried his head, hiding it away, as the gentle tremors started to work up his body. Crying. But without the Blush of Life, there were no tears. Dry heaves in his throat were all he managed, quiet things that forced up the withered, dried guts of a corpse.

Two Terry corpses, and one of them wasn't ever going to move again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. It's all my fault, and... I can't fix any of it." He reached out, set his arm across her stomach, and pulled her a little closer, so he could press her shoulder to his head. "Please... get up."

Mary said nothing. She was cold, and still. Mary was gone, and all she'd left behind was a body.

He stayed like that for a while. Ten, maybe twenty minutes, crying a vampire's quiet, pathetic cry. Nothing but dry whimpers. Mary didn't mind. She lay there, unmoving, quiet, and let him cry on her shoulder. But, once the ache in his gut started to subside, he forced himself to stand, and smiled down at Mary.

"I'll make sure you get a proper burial. You used to think angels were neat, right? I... actually, I should take a visit to the house, shouldn't I? Maybe I'll find something meaningful to bury with you." Silence. He nodded, letting the icy quiet sink in as he pulled the blanket back over her head. "Knowing you, it'll probably be angels, or unicorns, or rainbows." Everything that a cabinet in a morgue's wall of corpses wasn't.

He walked toward the door, and looked over his shoulder as he did. "Goodbye, Sis."