Atlanta - The Dangers of the Job

[Florian Raniari]

(I guess this takes place sometime after the "Hurricane" thread)

He slammed the door behind him.

Looking about, Sastre found himself in a fairly spacious kitchen. As was his habit, he took note of everything, from the walk-in pantry directly across the room, to the small table and chair set against the right hand wall, even to the appliances and the racks of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. A row of windows filled the wall just above the table, and he noted it as a possible avenue of escape. With that taken care of, he immediately set about barricading the door that he’d just entered through, moving the table and even the refrigerator in front of it. Looking around the kitchen for anything else that could be used in his makeshift barrier, the hunter’s eyes settled on the oven. Moving quickly toward it, he wrenched it away from the wall, laughing thankfully when it moved fairly easily. With a bit of work, he was able to drag it way and push it up against the door, along with the table and fridge. He knew it wouldn’t buy him much time, but in this particular case every second counted.

His body ached with exhaustion, and he staggered toward the cutlery with the slightest hint of a limp in his left leg. He’d broken that leg several years ago, and though it had healed pretty well, the humidity still made the bone ache unbelievably. With hands shaking, he rummaged around, praying to find what he was looking for, though the chances were astronomical.

Moments later, he cursed in frustration, taking a second to lean against the counter and catch his breath. He furrowed his brow and took another deep breath, and this time he detected the scent of natural gas all too well. He coughed and looked to where he’d violently removed the oven. Sure enough, he saw the gas pipe, and even though it was all in his mind, he could almost see the gas pouring out of it, filling the kitchen.

“Damn!” he cried out. His exclamation was immediately answered by a throaty laugh from the other side of the barricaded door.

“What’s the matter, Quicksilver?” a deep male voice calls out from beyond the door. “I can smell that gas to, you know. Way to go.”

“Burn in hell,” Sastre spat as he began tearing through various drawers and cabinets, finally finding a drawer full of towels and dishcloths. Running to the sink, he turned on the water and held a dish towel under it, tying it around his mouth when it was sufficiently wet. That would help, but not for long, and he still had an angry, vengeful rakshasa on the other side of that door, just waiting to murder him. For a moment despair over took him, for where was he supposed to get a hold of a brass knife here? It wasn’t like they were a typical part of the average American’s household…

“So, how does it feel, Quicksilver?” the menacing voice asked again. A loud crack! sounded as a heavy weight was thrown against Sastre’s makeshift barricade. “To be hunted for a change, instead of the hunter? It must frighten you to know that I set all of this up. Once I found out that you were in town, I just knew this was my chance. And luring you here was so easy…”

Ignoring the taunts for the time being, Sastre began to look desperately around the kitchen for anything he could use to kill this bastard. His grey eyes flicked to the windows for a moment, but he immediately tossed aside the idea of escape. He’d use it as a last resort, but not yet. He didn’t want to give the rakshasa the satisfaction. Finally, he turned his gaze to the gas pipe, and as he wiped tears from his eyes (for the fumes were growing stronger) he had a startling realization.

This was an old, turn of the twentieth century house. In those times, copper was usually used for the piping of natural gas throughout the house, but in certain cases, some of the poorer families would opt to build with brass. It was cheaper, and only a little bit more dangerous than the safer copper pipes. But what were the chances…?

He dashed toward the pipe, ignoring the throbbing pain in his left leg. He dropped to his knees and slid the last few feet across the linoleum, coming to a stop right before the pipe and taking hold of it. A slight smile crept across his lips, which were still obscured by the wet towel. He was no expert, but he thought that this particular pipe may be brass… Taking hold of it with both hands, he bent it one way, and then the other, over and over until, finally, it snapped. He fell back, lying on the floor and gasping for breath. It was getting difficult to breath. He knew he didn’t have much time left before he was overcome by the fumes.

Another crash against the door, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood, forced the hunter to his feet. The rude beginnings of a plan were starting to form in his mind, but he wasn’t entirely sure about how good his chances of survival would be. Still, though, it was a plan.

“Quicksilver!” the rage-filled voice screamed from the other side of the blocked door. “I’m going to kill you! You took her away from me! You killed my Sorren, my mate!”

Sastre actually giggled, for the gas was making him lightheaded and he, for some reason, found this entire situation amusing.

“Your mate had just gorged herself on an elementary school full of kids, Scherez!” Sastre called out, rushing to the sink and grabbing the sprayer. The water was still on from earlier, and he began to douse himself as quickly and completely as possible. “What choice did I have, huh?”

The rakshasa, who Sastre had called “Scherez,” let out a bone-rattling roar. “Do you kill the lion for feasting on the gazelle? Or the wolf for devouring the elk?”

“No,” Sastre countered, a bit dismayed to be drenching and ruining one of his few sets of nice clothing. “But we do hunt the lions and the wolves that get a taste for human flesh. Your girl should have laid off, Scherez!”

Another push and the door buckled slightly. “You hunt us and murder us for doing what is in our nature!”

“There’s no place for you in this world,” Sastre retorted. “Figure out a new way to live, or leave us in peace!” Through eyes blurred with tears, Sastre stared intently at the door, seeking any sign of Scherez through the various holes and cracks that had been made. But there was nothing… His eyes widened as he realized―

Damn, I forgot about the invisibility! Suddenly his plan changed a bit, becoming both more effective, and far, far more dangerous. Satisfied that he was as drenched as he was going to get, he then wet down two dish rags and wrapped them around his hands. Holding the broken bit of brass pipe in one hand and his shotgun in the other, he prepared for the rakshasa’s inevitable entrance. Thankfully, he had his gun loaded with real shells, and not rock salt, for it was too late now to have to reload.

It happened much faster than Sastre had thought it would. Suddenly, the barricade seemed to explode inward, and the hunter had to crouch and shield himself from flying debris. Without wasting another second, he spun and fired both barrels toward the broken gas pipe, clenching his eyes shut as he did so. The force of the explosion that resulted, though, was far more violent than he had been anticipating, and he cried out in surprise as he was tossed across the room, colliding with the far wall so hard that he felt his shoulder dislocate. Grunting in pain, he dropped the pipe and slid down the wall, his arm throbbing with agony.

A pain-laced scream cut through the burning kitchen, and Sastre looked up with narrowed eyes to see a humanoid shape staggering sideways through the fire. Scherez was still invisible, of course, but now his shape was evident as his clothing burned. Tossing aside the shotgun, Sastre picked up the pipe with is other hand and, letting loose with an enraged roar, he charged into the flames, rushing the invisible rakshasa and tackling him to the crackling linoleum floor, unmindful of the roaring inferno all around them. With the last of his strength, Sastre plunged the brass pipe into the monster’s chest.

He was rewarded by a cry of agony, and as the creature’s body bucked upward, Sastre was thrown aside. He slid across the floor, dazed and injured, his eyes forced shut by the ferocity of the flames. Still, even with his eyes clenched shut he could see the layout of the room in his mind, and he was shocked to realize that he was currently lying right below the row of windows. With the rakshasa’s dying cries mixing with the crackle and roar of the fire, Sastre staggered to his feet and hurled himself out the window, barely even noticing the pain that shot through him as he hit the ground some five or six feet below.

In the distance, he could hear sirens, and he forced the pain aside long enough to climb to his feet. That he was terribly injured was a given, and he could smell his own burnt flesh and hair as he staggered away from the burning house, using neighboring yards and back-alleys to escape the scene of the battle. When he felt he was far enough away, he allowed himself to collapse against a dumpster, his body shaking with pain and shock. He knew he was hurt beyond his ability to fix, but he also knew that he had no other choice. Dr. Nicodeau’s clinic was too far away, and she was the only one he trusted to take care of his wounds.

There was no one else…

Wait, he thought, his mind clouded with pain. Maybe… He rose to his feet and started off at a half-run, half-walk in the direction of the hospital where Madison worked. He didn’t know what she’d be able to do for him, but he knew that, at the moment, she was his best hope for survival. After what seemed like an eternity of pain and exhaustion, Sastre found himself slumped against the wall of the hospital, the entrance to the ER just feet away. Unable now even to walk, the injured hunter crawled onward before collapsing just before the entrance.

It wasn’t long before doctors and nurses were swarming him, and as they called out questions and tried to get him to remain conscious, all he could say was “Madison.” Whether her name was lost in the general chaos that surrounded him, Sastre didn’t know.

But he didn’t care.

He let oblivion take him.

((Tag Madison!))

[madison]

I can hear the devil call my name
Hopeless, I’m falling down
Filthy, I can’t wake up
I cannot hold on, I will not let go
Worthless, it’s over now
Guilty, there’s no way out


Madison pulled her long hair out of its ponytail as she entered the women’s locker room at the hospital. After doing a quick check to make sure no one else was in there she locked the door behind her and went over to the sink. Turning the faucet on she closed her eyes, splashed cool water on her face and let her head hang. Taking a few deep breaths Madison gripped the edge of the sink and looked up into the mirror.

The reflection she saw staring back at her seemed to be withering more every day. Her normally tan complexion was drab, almost pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. It wasn’t anything that concealer and a bit of foundation wouldn’t cover up. It was harder to keep the pain out of her eyes. She had to work to mask her emotions and she was so tired.

Pushing off the sink, Madison began peeling off the layers of her scrubs, revealing a series of fading bruises down the left side of her abdomen. Two of her ribs had been cracked. She should have been wearing an ace bandage to restrict her movements, but they were too bulky and people would have noticed. No, instead she was just careful. Besides when she working she didn’t feel the pain. Madison was too absorbed in handling the next trauma case that was wheeled through the doors.

Now though, her shift was over and she already began to feel the aches and protests of her body. Stripping the rest of the way down, Madison turned the shower on steaming hot and stepped in, letting the water beat into her skin to soothe her aching muscles. Unfortunately she couldn’t enjoy it as much as she would have liked. The longer she took, the more likely someone was to find her. That couldn’t happen.

After cleaning herself up, Madison dressed in a pair of loose jeans and a purple v-neck shirt. She pulled on her sneakers and unlocked the door as she quickly did her makeup and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Her stomach rumbled from lack of food and Madison tried to remember the last time she ate. She was pretty sure it was lunch yesterday, but she couldn’t pinpoint it to be sure.

It had been a long day and all she wanted to do was head out and have a stiff martini. She realized of course, that she was using alcohol to cope, but at the moment there wasn’t anything else to be done. Madison’s situation was a tricky one and at the moment she saw no way out of it. She made sure that there was always plenty of time after her last drink and before her first shift. Madison may be coping with her own problems but she wasn’t about to let that affect her job. She was a trauma surgeon and that meant she had to be on her game at all times when she was at work.

Grabbing her bag, Madison exited the locker room just to see a frenzy of people rushing towards the ER. Instincts kicked in and she immediately followed them. Just because she wasn’t on the clock anymore didn’t mean she stopped being a doctor. A mindset that had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion to say the least. Madison pushed through the people to see what the commotion was about.

A few nurses and doctors had already gathered around the man on the floor. He was unconscious, his clothes smelling of smoke and blood. Madison already knew that the people surrounding him probably thought him to be some bum off the street, but she knew better. Pushing one of the doctors out of the way she looked and him, pushing the hood off his face. “Sastre, what did you get yourself into?”

With that, her emotions were pushed back and she immediately went into doctor mode. Madison grabbed a stethoscope off one of the nearby doctors and started checking Sastre’s vitals. “We need a gurney!” She yelled without looking up. Reaching for the collar of his shirt she ripped it open and began checking for internal bleeding.

“Anna,” She said to one of the nearby nurses. “Make sure trauma two is cleared out and that an OR is on standby.” Anna was new and fairly young. She hesitated, her gaze stuck on the man lying on the floor.

“Now!” Anna jumped and ran down the hallway just as they brought the gurney over. Madison nodded to the others. “On the count of three. One, two, three!” They hauled Sastre off the ground and laid him on the gurney. “Let’s get moving!”

As they headed down the hallway an IV was inserted into Sastre. They brought him into trauma two and Madison barked out orders of things she needed to stabilize his broken and battered body. When she came to his abdomen she cursed. “We’ve got internal bleeding. Call up to the OR, let them know we’re coming.”

She didn’t know who she said it too, but someone out of the corner of her eye went scurrying for the phone. It’s the way it was. That’s the way it was supposed to be when an ER ran smoothly. Madison always made sure her team did. There was no room for error.

Once everything was set they headed up to the ER. Madison was a trauma surgeon and was equipped to deal with this. Her emotions were still on the back burner. Technically it was a conflict of interest, but she knew that Sastre wouldn’t want or trust anyone else to work on him. She wouldn’t let him down on that.

The surgery took several hours. Longer than Madison would have liked, but luckily the internal bleeding was caused by a ruptured spleen. It was something easily dealt with. By the time Sastre was sewed up and stable, Madison was exhausted. Besides a concussion and a few second degree burns, he had three cracked ribs, a ruptured spleen, and a broken arm. All of which she had personally taken care of.

Madison took care of the paperwork while Sastre was moved into a room. She made sure that no one knew his real name and that there were no worries about insurance either. She had a few favors she was able to call in and she was glad to do so as long as Sastre was protected. The cops were a bit trickier, but she managed to stall the administrator from calling them for now.

When Madison finally made it to his room she stopped, leaning against the door frame. Despite his age Sastre was a strong, fit, man. He was someone who made her feel safe. Now though, lying in the hospital bed, pale and hurt, it twisted Madison’s stomach in knots. This is why she had never told him her secret. She wouldn’t let this happen to him and it be her fault.

Sighing, Madison pulled a chair near his bed and gripped his good hand. She kissed the back of it before rubbing it against her cheek. “I’m here, Sastre. I kept your secret safe.” She blinked back the tears in her eyes. “All I want you to do for me is wake up. Okay?”

She brushed a ragged lock of hair out of his bruised face and leaned forward, resting her head on the edge of the bed. “Just wake up.” Before Madison knew what was happening, exhaustion was taking her over and her eyes were closing.

[Florian Raniari]

Sastre floated in a cold, dark place.

At first, he thought he was dead, but eventually the pain began to get through. Were he dead, he was certain that there'd be no pain, but the dull, distant throbs that shot through his body were definitely real... But if he wasn't dead, where was he then?

For what seemed like an eternity, he simply drifted along in the ebon darkness, detaching himself from the pain. He tried to remember what exactly had happened, but the last moments of his life seemed to be too far away, and he couldn't quite grasp the meaning of the images he saw, and the distant sounds that he heard. He knew there had been fire... And screams... but beyond that, it was a mystery.

At times he thought he slept, and as he did so he dreamed. In his dreams, he could see the bar where he'd first met Madison, the night that the demon had attacked. In fact, in these dreams it seemed as though the was speaking to her, and she was frightened, but he could remember nothing of these conversations. There were others there as well, though their faces were blurry and indistinct, and their names eluded him. Eventually these dreams--if dreams they were--would drift off into nothingness, and he'd be left alone in the dark once again.

Eventually something started to form in the blackness around him, as if the shadows were swirling to reveal an image. Below him, stretching away into the darkness, was a pristine, green countryside, with a sprawling estate bustling with people. His eyes scanned the scene until he found what he'd been looking for: three young boys, ranging in age from seven or so to fourteen, running amok through the fields and pastures, laughing and playing. He felt his stomach twist at the sight, and he shut his eyes against this vision, trying to shut it away. Still, the sounds of their laughter reached him, and eventually he gave up and opened his eyes once more.

Abruptly the scene changed, as if night had fell in the blink of an eye. And though the night should have been dark, the countryside all around was lit up by the light of the flames that ravaged the estate house. People ran from the inferno, batting at the flames that licked their flesh, only to be struck down by dozens of darting shadows that came seemingly out of nowhere. Everyone was being hunted down, killed, and...

And their blood... They were drinking their blood!

In the cold, inky darkness that had become his home, Sastre screamed, forcing the image around him to shatter, leaving him in peaceful oblivion once again. Time passed as before: hours, days, weeks... years? He didn't know. After an indeterminable period of time, though, more images came to him, though they were different than the holocaust that he'd witnessed before.

Faces from his past drifted through the shadows around him, their faces ranging in expression from bliss to downright terror. The first of these phantoms that came to him were the youthful faces of the three young boys, their features showing the typical happiness and freedom of children. Almost instantly, though, their faces became smudged with soot, and blood, and tears stained their cheeks as they wept for what they had lost... Next came the serious, stern face of a old man, his salt-and-pepper beard obscuring much of his expression. His green eyes, though, seemed to glow in the darkness, and as they settled on Sastre, his expression softened, and he smiled broadly.

Words seemed to come unbidden to the hunter's mind: "...proud...of you..."

Like smoke, the old man's face dissipated, and in its place there came the image of a young woman. Her night-dark hair framed a delicate, pale face, and her stormy-grey eyes seemed impossibly large and expressive as they stared at him, shining with unshed tears. In shock, Sastre reached out to touch her cheek as the tears began to flow.

"Solphi..." he said softly, but as his fingers brushed the soft skin of her cheek, her image dissolved like smoke. Sastre clenched his eyes shut. "Solphi..."

A laugh that froze the hunter's blood emanated from the void around him, and as he spun around he found himself confronted by yet another image. This particular face was cloaked in a shadow so dark that it was actually distinguishable from the general darkness that dominated this place. A sly smile crept across its pale face, though, and Sastre felt himself trembling with anger.

"You..." he growled.

Once again, the new-come phantom laughed menacingly, and before Sastre could act, the illusion seemed to grow to gartantuan size. The vision's mouth opened, revealing rows of fang-teeth, and as it rushed forward to devour the hunter, Sastre screamed into the all-consuming darkness.

Death, he thought. Surely Death has come to me at last...

[madison]

I can hear the devil call my name
Hopeless, I’m falling down
Filthy, I can’t wake up
I cannot hold on, I will not let go
Worthless, it’s over now
Guilty, there’s no way out

The sound of Sastre’s hoarse voice stirred Madison from her sleep. She was still gripping his hand when she woke and saw him in a restless sleep. He was calling out for Solphi, and Madison looked at him curiously wondering who Solphi was. His love perhaps? She imagined Sastre would have made a wonderful husband if he had ever been married. Solphi, if she was someone Sastre loved, was a very lucky woman.

Madison wondered what it was like to have a man who truly loved you. She thought she’d had that once upon a time, but she’d been more than wrong. Her free hand absently moved to her stomach. Beneath her shirt there was a scar where she’d have to have emergency surgery. The love Madison had thought she had was just a ruse. A mistake she figured she’d made from being so naïve. What had happened to her, well she never thought it would. Madison would never let herself become one of those women. Yet she had, and maybe if she’d walked away sooner things would be different.

Shaking off those thoughts she focused once again as Sastre, taking her hand from her stomach and lightly stroking his cheek. The stubble from his beard was rough against her fingers, making his skin feel a bit like sandpaper. That made her smile. Even his skin was tough.

“Shhh, Sastre,” She said in a calming voice. “You’re going to be all right.”

Madison had hoped her touch and her words would sooth him back into a sound slumber, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. He thrashed more violently in his sleep as if caught in the grips of a nightmare. Madison pressed her hands to his shoulders trying to keep him from hurting himself. He was screaming, his eyes closed, face breaking out with sweat. b8Sastre was strong and Madison was maybe half his size. She didn’t have the strength to keep him immobilized.

Reaching over she slammed the call button to the nurses station. “I need help in here!” She looked back down at her friend. “Come on Sastre, calm down!”

A few nurses along with the Dr. Weatherly, the doctor on call rushed into the room. Weatherly started barking out orders for sedation. Madison bit down on her lip, to keep from conflicting with him. She didn’t really want Sastre sedated, but if he kept thrashing like this he was going to hurt himself worse.

Sastre screamed and tore into Madison as she held him down. Before the nurse was able to administer the sedative into his I.V. Sastre fell limp. “Sastre?” Madison put her fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Her breath hitched when there wasn’t one. “We need a crash cart!” She was immediately on the side of his bed, pumping his chest as she administered CPR. A nurse came over, bagging him to help give his body oxygen.

A moment later the nurse wheeled in the cart. Dr. Weatherly was barking out orders, but Madison wasn’t listening. She was in doctor mode, and she wasn’t going to let anyone else work on Sastre. She didn’t trust anyone else to. They pulled down the sheets and opened the gown as Madison lubed up the paddles and set the charge.

“Clear!” She yelled before placing the paddles to his chest and sending a charge of electricity through his body. Sastre’s back arched and she looked at the machines. He was back in sinus rhythm.

What the hell had just happened? He had been fine, stable just a few moments ago. That shouldn’t have happened.

“Dr. McClain,” Madison turned seeing Dr. Weatherly’s angry expression aimed towards her. “We need to talk.”

“Later,” She told him putting the paddles back on the cart. She looked over to one of the nurses. “I want a complete work up on him. I want to know why his heart stopped!”

The nurse looked between the two of them. Dr. Weatherly nodded and the nurse took off, obviously not wanting to be in the middle of whatever was about to go down.

“Dr. McClain,” He said more stern this time.

Madison sighed and slumped back in the chair. “I know, I know, I stepped on your toes.” She shook her head and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, Tom.” She used his first name, hoping that would help diminish some of the scowl. It didn’t.

He harrumphed and walked out of the room. Madison shook her head. She was probably going to be hearing from her superiors, but right now that didn’t matter. Sastre was breathing on his own. Madison didn’t know what happened, but she wasn’t going to take another chance.

Pulling out her cellphone she looked at it for a few moments. Madison knew someone. A healer of sorts. He’d helped her out once when she’d been so bruised she could barely stand straight. His concoction had worked, and he had made mention that sometimes he could cure cancer.

Looking over at Sastre, Madison bit her lip. Her friend would in no way like what she was about to do, but that had been a close call. One she didn’t care to repeat. Opening her cell phone she dialed.

“Remy? It’s Madison…I’m not sure if you remember me, but I could use your help.”

[Darian Raniari]

He slipped into the room silently.

His dark eyes locked onto the unmoving figure in the bed, a slight smile upon his his lips. Closing the door soundlessly behind him, he strode forward, past the bed and to the window. Looking out into the rapidly-dimming evening light, he saw a drop of some four stories...

An irritation, but nothing more.

Returning his attention to the bed, he moved gracefully and took a seat in the bedside chair, clicking his tongue as he studied Sastre's pale features. An expression of concern came over him, and he reached out to absently brush a few errant strands of hair out of the hunter's face.

"Still calling yourself 'Sastre' no doubt," he muttered with a sigh. "Why you dedicated yourself to that doddering old fool so completely, I'll never understand." He let his fingers trail down Sastre's face, being careful to avoid his numerous injuries. "You can claim to be anyone you want, but you'll always just be little Florian to me."

He smiled warmly, patting Sastre familiarly on the shoulder. He remained silent for several moments, lost in thought. When he finally returned his full attention to Sastre, his eyes were filled with care.

"My, my, my," he said softly, taking in the burns and bruises that were scattered across Sastre's cheek and forehead. "You've surely put your foot in it this time, haven't you little brother?" He smiled as he stood up and paced around the bed. "But I'm sure you'll be just fine, under the beautiful Dr. McClain's watchful eye." He stopped at the foot of the bed, leaning on the foot-board and gazing down at Sastre. "We met the other night, you know. She is..." he closed his eyes and sighed, "quite stunning."

With preternatural speed, he came around and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over so his face was close to Sastre's ear. Even in his unconscious state, the hunter's features seemed to darken, and his brow furrowed.

"But," Darian whispered into Sastre's ear, "you always did know how to pick 'em, didn't you brother?" He chuckled, sounding eerily like Sastre. "I gotta say, I was always disappointed that the demons got to Solphi before I did... Oh, how badly I wanted to get my fangs into her." Once again he chuckled, shaking his head and smiling broadly. "After that, I didn't actually think you'd get involved with anyone again, and the thought broke my heart... I'm so glad I was wrong about you. Moving on? It was the right thing to do."

He stood up and turned his back on the injured hunter. He clenched his fists as his dark eyes suddenly flashed with madness. When he turned again to face Sastre, his face was a mask of barely-concealed hatred. He glided toward the hunter so quickly and smoothly that, had anyone saw it, they would have definitely known he was something other than human.

"It would be so easy," he hissed, grabbing tightly a hold of Sastre's neck with one hand. "So very easy to just end this right here, right now..." His voice trailed off as he applied pressure, and he smiled as the hunter began to suffocate. "Ah, yes, just a bit more, and you'll be nothing but a memory..." He abruptly stopped, pulling his hand away from Sastre's throat.

"No," he murmured, a distant look replacing the madness in his eyes. "No, I won't kill you, little brother. I won't have the guilt of fratricide on my conscience forever. Besides," he flashed the hunter a charming smile, "I don't have to kill you." He let his eyes flick to the ever-increasing amount of grey in Sastre's hair, and the fine lines and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth. "I just have to outlive you."

Just then, Darian heard the sound of approaching footsteps from outside the door. His eyes narrowed in irritation at having his little visit apparently cut short. Crouching down next to Sastre's bed, he whispered once again in the hunter's ear.

"See you soon, little brother."

With a single, fluid movement, Darian was across the room and out the window, the only sign that he'd even been there being the slight swaying of the window curtains, and the faint, hand-shaped bruise around Sastre's neck...

[remy]

I dont know where I am going
I just hope I'm not alone
Oh I hope I'm not alone
Cause in this space theres no room for me to be sheltered from the cold
who really knows, who really knows

[/color][/i]



”So what you say, cher?” Leaning sideways on the bar, Remy put on his best ‘smolder,’ giving the sexy little blond in front of him a grin to end all grins. The quaint little honky-tonk that he’d wandered into early that evening was packed to the gills with cowboys, daisy-duked ladies and grinning guys striving to make it in the local rodeo circuit. He’d had a lot of competition to deal with on the scoring front, but after a few hours of scoping out suitable prey, and trading sweet nothings with this little angel from Heaven, he’d managed to score him a hit.

Ah, women. They were the reason that the world went around; the reason for the sunrise, sunset and everything in between, as far as he was concerned. If a guy was having a bad day, wondering why he was alive and why the world sucked so bad, all he had to do was find solace in a woman’s arms, and he was once again redeemed. Forget the hunting, the saving people or the booze.

There just wasn’t anything like a nice, warm body next to his, to make him realize that life was worth living.

…Yeah, so he was a bit of a romantic at heart. Was that such a bad thing? C’mon now…it was better than wanting to tally how many monsters he’d killed that month, or collecting stamps. Boooring…

The woman just smiled and flirted, trailing a finger up his arm. The hair on the back of Remy’s neck stood at attention, and somewhere in the back of his head, a voice started crowing ‘HELL YEAH, WE’RE GETTING SOME TONIGHT!’ He didn’t like to start playing the psychic, but given those looks and the way her body language practically screamed ‘unsex me!’ he was pretty sure that he had a fighting chance.

So, before some ex-boyfriend or a cuter cowboy came wandering over and stole his chance at a wild night, he had to wrap this up. He’d give her a backhanded compliment, flash his patented grin, let his own fingers wander down her arm, as he maneuvered her toward the exit—

Basically, anything that didn’t involve his cell phone ringing ridiculously loud, thus breaking the mood. Crap, crap, CRAP!

As a rule, he really didn’t like to use electronic things, as they tended to explode while around them. He rarely gave out his number- nobody liked a clingy one night stand, after all- and even more rarely had the cell phone on. Given all of that, he had a feeling that the call was some kind of emergency. Maybe a sign to pick up, or get hit by lightening?

He was always a fan of signs, after all. But…right now? Seriously? Right now?!

With a sigh, the Cajun gave the blond an apologetic smile before turning away and bringing out his phone. Immediately after pressing the ‘answer’ button, he was greeted with one hell of a nice sounding voice; all husky and sexy in all the right intonations.

Madison, Madison…damn, he knew a lot of girls with that name on his trips up North! Couldn’t she be more specific? ‘Hi, I’m Madison, the girl you seduced over in New York?’ or something? Gah, think, Remy, think.

”Madison? Ah, but of course I remember you, mon ami! You’re…eh…ehm…” Think, Remy, think! Where had he heard that alluring voice before? Where, where…AHA! He was Einstein, but more handsome!

With a snap of his fingers, he let loose a sound of triumph. ”Yes, I helped you with some bruising! My remedy worked wonders, no? Ah, mon petit, are you ailing again? Do you need my help? The source of those wounds, they need shooting, no? I will be happy to shoot him. Or her…or it.”

The blond behind him was looking impatient, playing with the straw of her drink. Gah, this was torture! To play the white knight, or to bask in the pleasure of a stranger’s company…which to choose, which to choose…

In the end, he really shouldn’t have bothered to get all twisted up with the indecision, he thought with a martyred sigh. His restored Thunderbird purred under him as he passed over the Georgia state line, making mini-tornadoes out of the dust along the road. Madison and her little friend were certainly lucky that he’d been playing around South Carolina’s many ‘southern belles,’ cementing the feeling that this whole phone call had been somehow preordained. What were the odds that he would have been so ridiculously close by, when Madison needed his help? God did love to work in those mysterious ways of his…

But hell, at least he was getting some free practice out of all this! Almost reverently, Remy reached over to the passenger’s seat and patted the worn leather doctor’s bag. He wasn’t no medical doctor, like the fools tending to Madison’s friend, but, as he’d promised her over the phone, he would do his best. Gah, to poison the poor man’s soul with that antiseptic-smelling place! The Cajun just grimaced, and kept on grimacing as he pulled his ride into the hospital parking lot. Well, wasn’t this place easy to find!

And Dieu, did it smell exactly as he remembered it. Madison’s friend would be right as rain soon enough before he was tainted by this…death house. He would see to it!

Following the woman’s instructions, he made his way through maze-like hallways and up a few crowded elevators. It took him a bit longer than intended, given the fact that women in nurse’s uniforms were just too appetizing to resist.

”Madison!” He called out with a happy little wave, when he caught sight of the familiar woman standing in the hall. ”I have come! Where is the patient, eh? It’s time to work some magic!”
---


((Hey guys! Sorry this is coming late; my cousins were over and they were MONSTERS. -flails- I hope this works, and if things need changing, lemme know. ^_^ ))


[/center][/blockquote]

[madison]

I can hear the devil call my name
Hopeless, I’m falling down
Filthy, I can’t wake up
I cannot hold on, I will not let go
Worthless, it’s over now
Guilty, there’s no way out



Exhaustion had washed over Madison several hours ago. She should have been home, wrapped in her blankets long ago, but she couldn’t leave Sastre without anyone watching over him. Especially not since his heart had stopped. All the tests had come back negative. There was no reason for that to have happened. So why the hell had it? Having no cause for it to happen, Madison didn’t know if Sastre’s heart would stop again. She’d been his side most of the time since then just in case.

The only time Madison had left his side was when one of her friends dragged her down to the cafeteria to get some food. It had been over twenty four hours since Madison had last eaten and she had almost passed out on her feet. It was either go to the cafeteria and get food, or her friend was going to force a tube down her nose. That latter is just as awful as it sounds so Madison went to the cafeteria.

The truth about hospital food is it’s bland and tasteless. Why? Well because let’s face it. People are at the hospital for a reason and there are a lot of spices that people are allergic to. At the moment though it didn’t matter if it was hospital food or if she were eating at a five-star restaurant with the best chef in the world her mind was too far away for it to register what her tongue was tasting.

As Madison was walking back to Sastre’s room her phone went off. Pulling it out of her pocket she saw the caller ID, and figured that it was probably best not to answer. He would just yell at Madison, curse her out and make threats that he would make good on later. Especially since she’d been avoiding go out more often than not.

A moment after it stopped ringing it started up again and Madison sighed, leaning against the wall near Sastre’s room. Getting annoyed and not having the energy to deal with it Madison turned off her phone and rested her head against the cool wall. It wasn’t long after that she heard someone call her name.

Turning Madison smiled when she saw Remy walking towards her. Sastre was going to be pissed that Madison was bringing Remy into help, but what option did she have? She couldn’t let his heart stop again, not knowing if she’ll be able to get it beating again.

Walking over she pecked Remy on the cheek. “Thank you for coming.” She guided him towards Sastre’s room. “He’s a good man, and he should have woken by now. His heart stopped for no reason, and…” She trailed off biting her lip as they walked into Sastre’s room. He still looked so frail lying in bed.

“Can you help him Remy?”

[remy]

Hospitals. If there was one place in the world that he would have his nuts cut off to stay away from, it was definitely a hospital.

Well…a tie between a hospital and a child’s birthday party, but still. He shivered just looking at around the sterile white hallway that seemed to close around him. How could people actually think that this was a place of healing? This…this…death house? Only in the natural arms of the bayou, or some other green-tinted place, could one really be healed. Not here, where bodies were frozen in the basement, and families wailed in small, sound-proofed rooms.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Remy glared right back at a particularly annoying baby photo on the wall. Buildings might have power, according to the old woman who’d trained him back home, but they could be conquered, if the right mind was put to it. Most of the people inside here, however, were hurting too much to deal with the bad leaking out of the sanitized walls, and thus, the oppressive feeling of death and sadness clung to it.

Lordy, it was a good thing that Madison told him her friend had been placed here, before that gris gris sank into his bones.

…And with that thought, it was all he could do not to start banging his head against the closest wall. Hell’s bells, he was starting to sound like an old voodoo woman. Gah, quick, he had to find someone to work his charms on!

Meeting Madison when she moved toward him, the Cajun leaned forward and gave her a kiss on each cheek, forgetting for a moment that some didn’t like such close proximity. Allowing himself to be led into the room, he took in the various beeping monitors, the white walls and the still body lying on the bed before him. The poor man; he was probably too afraid to wake up and see himself in that God awful hospital Johnny…

Turning back toward Madison, he gave her a quick grin before moving over to the bed, setting his leather case on the edge. ”Of course I can help, mon petit! This is what I specialize in; curing the sick. Now, I will inspect him.”

With a deep, calming breath, he stopped when he was at her friend’s bedside. He closed his eyes, forcing all other sounds from his mind and slowly, his body relaxed. It was a key element of any healing, or so his teacher had said; calmness in mind, body and soul. Only then, could one channel the Powers that they needed to help those around them.

Deftly, he inspected every bruise and every wound that he could find, gently pressing his ear to the man’s chest to listen for heart sounds, and after extracting an old stethoscope from his bag, he listened to lung sounds. Blood pressure was taken, a pulse was measured, pupils and throat checked…and finally, after a good ten minutes of taking mental notes and muttering to himself in his native language, he turned to rummage around in his bag.

”I cannot promise anything,” He said, pulling out various vials and containers. ”But I think I can make something for him. The bruises and the other injuries; they would not make his heart stop. But things inside his mind? They don’t be cured by medicines that these doctors use.” He practically spat out the word ‘doctor’ as he carefully measured a thick brown liquid into a cup.

Nodding to Madison, he motioned for her to come over. ”Here, help me lift him. This potion has to be drank, but we don’t need him awake for it. I just need him sitting up.” Moving over to Sastre, he hooked an arm around his neck and urged him upwards. With Madison’s help, he managed to pour most of the solution down his throat, using his hand to massage the rest down. Even in his sleep, the poor guy didn’t seem to want to swallow the bitter, nasty smelling stuff, but even the smallest drop in his belly would help.

Or so Mama Thibideaux used to say.

The next hour was spent placing sweet smelling salves on the man’s chest and neck, and a mixture of moss and sap around his eyes, temples, pulse points and hands. As he worked, Remy spoke to God, as he was taught; the Cajun words spilling out of his lips in a rhythmic, beseeching pattern. He’d always felt uncomfortable with this part of the ‘tradition,’ as he wasn’t exactly a fan of the Big Guy, but he said the words anyway.

Finally, he was done. Taking a step back away from the bed and the patient on it, he rubbed at his neck and nodded in satisfaction. ”Do not let the hospital people take that salve off. I have another mix for him to drink, but we have to wait until the mon’pas on his chest makes his breathing better. The rest…well, the rest is up to him, mon cher.”

[/blockquote]

[Florian Raniari]

He sat up with a gasp.

Suddenly, the combined pain of all his aching muscles, burns, and bruises caught up with him, and he fell back on the bed, his body arching up with agony as he clenched his teeth and swallowed the cry that had threatened to escape. It felt as though his body was still on fire, though as he let his mind relax, he realized that beneath that surface-level burning, something deeper was working on his wounds, providing a cooling relief, causing the pain to slowly ebb.

Lying back down flat, he opened his eyes, looking around the room with blurred vision. It was stark, white, sterile...

A hospital!

He was just about to leap from the bed and attempt some sort of escape, regardless of his injuries, when he remembered... He had come here... There had been no other choice. Instantly his worry at being in the hospital was replaced by another worry: that some stranger had worked on him, had tried to look him up in some information database somewhere and had failed to come up with any results. If that were the case, the police may have been brought in... His knapsack, filled with various weapons and occult items, would have surely caught their interest...

Okay, relax, he mentally instructed himself, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. He knew there were people in the room, at least one person and maybe as many as two or three, and that he had startled them with his sudden outburst. That's it, relax. His breathing regulated, the numerous aches and pains began to fade, and he opened his eyes once more. If there were other people here, strangers, then he'd have to tread lightly.

Turning his head slowly, Sastre could have wept when he saw Madison, her face clearly showing her concern. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes once again against impending tears. It was Madison. Madison. She had helped him... He knew she had kept his secret safe. Beside her stood a young man, a stranger to Sastre, which worried him a bit. But, if he was a friend of Madison's, then he wasn't quite as concerned as he could have been.

"How long?" he croaked, his voice dry and raspy. "How long have I been out?" His mind was running wild with questions, but that one seemed to be the most important. He hated having missing-time, it was one of the many reason's he'd quit drinking so long ago, and he prayed that he hadn't been unconscious for too long. He had secrets, and a lot of them, and he always worried that, in a sedated or altered state of mind, he would let some of them slip. That concern is what led to his second question, asked before the first one had even been answered.

"Did I say anything?"

He half-feared the answer...

[madison]

I can hear the devil call my name
Hopeless, I’m falling down
Filthy, I can’t wake up
I cannot hold on, I will not let go
Worthless, it’s over now
Guilty, there’s no way out

When Sastre opened his eyes Madison could have kissed Remy! Her shoulders sagged as she saw those bluish-grey eyes begin to blink open. A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped her lungs as she moved over to his bedside. When he cried out and tried to sit up Madison was quickly and gently pushing him back to the bed.

“Easy. You’re all right. You’re safe.” She ignored the question of how long Sastre had been out and began checking over his vitals, wanting to make sure he was still in fact stable. At first Madison had been worried about Remy’s concoction. A topical remedy for bruises is one thing, but it’s something else entirely to have someone on hospital grounds ingest something from someone that the board would no doubt call a voodoo doctor. Then again she was hoping they wouldn’t find out.

Remy was definitely good at what he did, but Madison had taken a big risk bringing him here. Not to mention faking Sastre’s name, fudging the insurance so he could stay, plus stepping on the other doctor’s toes, and technically having a conflict of interest by doing surgery on someone she not only knew, but considered a friend. All that added up to possibly being terminated from the hospital and potentially being blackballed.

Those weren’t things Madison wasn’t looking forward to. At the moment she wasn’t worried about them either. The only thing that mattered right now was Sastre and making sure he was better. Everything else could be dealt with later.
When he asked if he said anything Madison squeezed his good arm. “Can you tell me your name?”