The Keyes To Unlife {Jesse Fforde}

[Rhett Keyes]

Just as Rhett suspected. Jess had become one of the kids' that didn't get to change their circumstances and became a sad part of everything he fought against. Kid's could change their destiny and fate if they wanted to and worked hard to. Anyone could. It just took ambition and the need or want to change that.

"Sure, man. No cops." Rhett agrees, but if things went south, he'd have to involve someone. Rhett didn't want to risk losing everything he worked hard for. Especially if Jesse died. Maybe he could come up with some story about how he didn't even really know the guy. He was outside his building. Or even tried to break in and-no. Rhett had no big dogs. ****. He was putting a lot on the line for Jesse-but that's what they were like back in the day. And Rhett owed Jesse; he was pretty sure Jesse got him out of a bind last. So, Rhett was paying it forward back to Jesse.

Rhett doesn't say anything about stitching Jesse up. Not until they are right outside his flat and Rhett's fumbling for the flat keys like an idiot. How hard was it to open a damn door that you've opened up for the better part of five years now? Rhett kicks the door open and helps haul Jesse in. When the door is closed, he chooses to speak then. "Look. I'm going to be honest with you, Jesse. I've worked some pretty amazing things before-but this? This is surgeon stuff. Way past my pay grade." There it was. Rhett was being honest because he didn't know what he could do. "But, I'll do my best." Rhett adds in as he pulls him down a narrow hallway, to number '3' on the door. "Here we go." Rhett said as he put another key in this door and swung it open. "The couch is over here." Rhett nudged his head to the couch, even though he doubted Jesse was paying attention. "Come on." Rhett drops the guy to the couch and goes to look for something-anything to help Jesse out.

[Jesse Fforde]

It was a plan that wasn’t really a plan. The plan that kept changing in Jesse’s head, like some kind of broken chameleon. There was an odd kind of comfort in being around this man whom he had not seen for years. There was that connection to the past that Jesse didn’t often thing about. But it was a pat that he should remember, because it had shaped him, as a man. Someone who acted tough and like he didn’t give a **** what anyone said or thought. He had even convinced himself that he was unshakeable, unmoveable, someone who could spit out woe like it was a stale piece of gum.

Really, though, he wasn’t. Because of people like Rhett and people who actually did give a ****, in the end, even if they gave a **** about everyone generally and not Jesse specifically—like his tattooist mentor, who taught plenty of apprentices before and after Jesse—these were the people who had helped give the Necromancer that tiny bit of depth.

Though, that depth was nowhere to be seen as they shuffled in through the door of Rhett’s apartment. They were in a private place and Jesse would not be seen. Could not be seen by anyone who would give him away. Although Rhett had deposited him on the couch, it wasn’t long before Jesse was stalking after Rhett; Rhett, who was still a comfort but who was also human, and had that vital hot liquid pumping through his veins. The place stunk of humanity, and it was making Jesse hungry. So very hungry.

Jesse’s blood dripped down over his fingers, leaving a trail on the floor where he walked.

”I actually really don’t need stitches, man,” Jesse said, his voice cool as ice. ”It will heal. I was serious, before. I just need blood. Just a little bit…” he was leaning against a door jam. It was a miracle he had not just lunged for Rhett’s neck by now. Maybe there was that lingering respect that stopped him. Though he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to control himself.

[Rhett Keyes]

Jesse was following him, which, Rhett shouldn't have been surprised. He listened to what Jesse was saying all while searching through cabinets for the things he would need. Rhett stopped and looked at Jesse, then chuckled. A nervous chuckle at that.

When he looked at Jesse and the shape he was in, there was that feeling again. The nervousness and the need to keep distance between the two of them. Wasn't that crazy? No, Rhett decided it wasn't all that crazy. Not when the guy had half his guts missing. "I don't have a blood bank in here, man." Rhett started out slowly as he tugged out a small medical kit that he got for free from some fundraising event they did at work a couple years back. There probably wasn't anything of use in there, but it was the best he could do. "Like I said, we should have gone to the hospital." Rhett muttered as he dug through the bag, Rhett's normal state coming back to the surface, only because he wasn't looking at Jesse.

"I've only got band-aids. And gauze, lots of-" Rhett looked up at Jesse and there it was again. The underlying feeling of apprehension. "Screw this. If you want my help, you better start spilling, man. This **** isn't right. And it's definitely not normal." Rhett closed the cabinet door and then leaned an elbow against it, narrowed eyes glued on Jesse. "So, if you need something from me, I'm going to need the truth from you."

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse had told Rhett the truth, hadn’t he? Back out on the street, and of course Rhett hadn’t believed him. Though, Jesse hadn’t told him the whole truth. Now is his time to shine, he supposes, and if Rhett is still dubious then Jesse’ll just have to show him via practical show-and-tell. Jesse leans heavily against the doorframe, and his lips curl back to reveal the vicious sharp canines protruding from his gums. He gives Rhett enough time to take note, before he clears his throat and begins.

”I am a vampire. I cannot go out in the sun and when I die I can come back to life. I have to drink blood to survive. Small wounds heal in a day or two. Scratches and bruises heal within an hour. **** like this?” he half glances down at his bloodied hands and the gaping, gashed wound that had ripped out his innards. ”Can take up to a week to fully heal. But it heals. And the organs are dead anyway so they don’t mean anything to me. Which is why I’m still standing, see? And able to move around. Able to run, as you witnessed yourself. You know as well as I do that any human would be dead from something like this,” he says to Rhett, throwing in a little bit of logic, just to be on the safe side.

”If you were anyone else I’d have taken your blood out on the street and never looked back. But I know you. And I’m here. And I’m trying really ******* hard to control myself, man. It’s not easy,” he admits. Probably not the best course of action, trying to tell Rhett how lucky he is. Not when Jesse’s pretty certain he’s going to rip the guy’s throat out, anyway. Even if Rhett does let Jesse take his blood, even if Jesse doesn’t kill Rhett, who’s to say Rhett won’t turn? Cosette had already started to turn, just from a bite. But Jesse knows deep down that he’s not really just telling Rhett how lucky he is. It’s a warning, too. That control is a thing that’s needed and it’s slipping.

[Rhett Keyes]

Vampire.

Rhett runs a hand through his hair and exhales loudly as he leaves the hand on his head. Sure, he's heard of the myths and the claims of them running around the city. People disappearing and not being seen again. People not knowing how they got from point A to point B. Complains of lethargy and soreness to the neck. But it's not something he's ever put much thought in to. People would rather believe the illogical because it sounds cooler, than the logical. It's just what he's noticed with people in general. Chest pain has to be a heart attack, but is mostly acid reflux or better known as heartburn. Blood loss must mean something drastic and fatal, when it could just be a few things off with someone's blood count and eating right or taking a pill for a short time would sort things out.

But this is Jesse. And Rhett knows Jesse isn't that sort of person. At least not the Jesse he knew back in the day. Add in with the fact that Rhett knows Jess is absolutely right-that he should be dead; there really isn't room for argument with what Jesse claims to be true.

The hand goes to the wall and Rhett just takes it in for a couple seconds. He puts all the things in his other hand down, because there isn't any need to use them. Not if Jesse is a vampire. Or something close to it. He sure wasn't human, that was for damn sure. "How much do you need? I mean, that looks like you need a lot, man." Rhett shrugged. If it was his time to go, Rhett knew your number was up. No amount of modern miracles was going to prevent that. Medicine just prolonged the inevitable, but it still felt good helping people live longer. Maybe one day there would be a cure for cancer and other nasty things. Probably not in his lifetime, but he still held hope for it.

"Not sure how it all works, but the human body can lose two pints alright, three, start to get a little woozy with some other affects. I can give you some; about that much. If it helps." Rhett crossed his arms at his chest, once he vocalized the desire to help Jesse. "So what do we do?" If Rhett was ever fed off of, he sure didn't remember it or how it went down. "Slit a wrist or something?" The nervous laugh returned with that last question.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse had never been one for too much discussion. Rhett should know this, if he remembers correctly, because Jesse hadn’t had the ability to vocalise, or to communicate via conversation. Sometimes conversation in general could exhaust Jesse, and much of the time he wishes he’d never got his voice back at all. Sure, it’s a handy thing to have in a tight spot, but no one else knew. No one else was involved in that little psychological experiment, not really. He could have lied, could have shaken his head. Even though he himself would have known, could speak, he could have continued to let everyone believe he didn’t.

Though there were, of course, people who already thought he was bullshitting and judged him for it. One person specifically who he might still be on good terms with if, from the very beginning, she had chosen to mistrust him rather than to ask whether something was wrong. There’s nothing he loathes more than people who judge without having the full story.

But here’s Rhett, not judging. Rhett, who’s believed Jesse without a fight. Someone Jesse could trust, at a pinch. Someone Jesse has trusted, in the past. Offering two, maybe three pints of blood. Jesse hardly hears any of the rest of it. All he can hear is the yes. The agreement. Without any hesitation or any second thought, he shows Rhett how it’s done rather than telling him. A wrist? No. It’s far quicker and hotter from the neck.

Jesse pushes himself away from the doorframe and lurches forward. The two men are at least of a similar height so the neck isn’t too hard to get to. If Jesse is rough with his friend, it’s not something he can control. The desperate hunger has reached a point of no return, and as soon as Rhett had agreed, it was unleashed. Fingers curled into Rhett’s hair to pull his head to the side, teeth sharp and bare as he lunged for the throbbing vein in the neck.

Two, maybe three, Rhett had said. I can do that, Jesse thinks. I can control it. I can stop…

It feels like a lie.

[Rhett Keyes]

Rhett stood there, waiting for Jesse to take the offered arm he gave him, watching Jesse. He wasn't sure what to make of this yet-not sure if he completely believed the guy. It stood against everything Rhett believed in. Yet, here Jesse was, alive (was he alive? What were vampires considered, if he was a real vampire?), even if half his guts were hanging out.

Only, Jesse didn't take the arm Rhett was willing to give him. Instead the guy more or less reeled towards him with a determined agenda and bit him. In the neck. Jesse was biting him in the ******* neck and it hurt. Now, Rhett could withstand his fair share of pain, but this-this wasn't something he ever felt before. It burned and it felt like his neck was going to be ripped open in half. So Rhett did the first thing that came to his mind. A natural reaction based off instinct. He tried to shove Jesse off him. "Geddoff, man." Rhett snarled as he gave another shove, but this one wasn't as powerful as the last one. He wasn't feeling quite like himself. He was feeling lightheaded. Drained even. And shoving a determined Jesse off him wasn't as easy as Rhett thought it would be.

"I said, stop!" Rhett barked out before a hand went to his throat and scratched at it. "I don't feel-" Rhett kept scratching at his throat as his eyes closed. He just needed to close them for a second. Just to rest. They were getting heavy too. Rhett wasn't sure how it would feel to lose a few pints of blood when he offered it to Jesse, but he didn't think it would feel like this. "Jesse. STOP." Rhett said as he leaned backwards from the guy. Or maybe he was falling backwards, either way he felt like he was about to hit the ground as his knees buckled from his weight.

[Jesse Fforde]

The more that Rhett struggles, the more Jesse holds on. Like a king cobra, his grip instinctively tightens the more he thinks his prey might escape. Once upon a time, Rhett could have kicked Jesse’s *** to hell and back; the man is larger, in most respects. Works out more, stronger. Put them side by side and ask people to take bets, they’d bed on Rhett, for sure. Jesse knows this.

But Jesse is a vampire with strength far superior to the man he now has in his grip. That frenzy for blood and that thirst that can never be sated, joined with the severe loss of his own blood, means that he has lost his reason, too. He’s become that king cobra and he wants to swallow his meal whole; even the gasped utterances of his name in a voice that he recognizes is not enough. Not until he’s reached his fill, and he is feeding just feed, rather than to sate any blood loss.

Only then, only when his attention shifts to support the weight of his friend rather than to fend off his struggles, does he come to his senses. Only then do his teeth retract, and he helps to guide the weight of Rhett’s body to the bathroom floor. Maybe it is with some misguided hope that he has not taken too much; a hope that Rhett will forgive the impertinence, when the guy has freely offered. That he’ll keep the secret. Jesse can trust him to do that, right?

Except, there might not be a chance to find out.

”****…” he mumbles. He can still taste Rhett’s blood as it coats the back of his mouth. He can smell it, nostrils flaring. He knows he could take more. He knows he wants to. He wants to drain the body beneath him until it’s a dried up husk. But it’s Rhett. This is his friend.

”I took too much, didn’t I?” he asks, grasping Rhett’s shoulder and shaking, wanting an answer. Wanting to know so he can figure out how to proceed.

[Rhett Keyes]

To Rhett, when he starts to go down, he's going down. He doesn't feel Jesse actually helping break the descent to the bathroom floor, all he knows is he's going down. Rule of gravity. He does feel the bathroom floor on his back, only because it's firm and hard. And cheap. Linoleum cheap. Every apartment in the building probably had the same linoleum and probably the same layout. All of it cheap, but meant to turn a decent profit to the owner's pocket.

He groans and tries to roll over to his side, but he doesn't physically go anywhere. He's just too weak and too tired. Rhett doesn't want to be on the shitty floor. He hadn't even mopped it in weeks because the guy never had time. He barely had time to wolf down food most the time before going to work, because that's just who Rhett is. He works a lot, is 'home' a little and sleeps even less.

"Uhhhn." Rhett mumbles, though he isn't sure what was said to him or what was asked. He hears ringing in his ears and that's what he focuses on. He focuses on that because if he stays focused, like he learned in his classes, people tend to turn around. Motivation, maybe. No one is sure on it, but there are a couple theories on it.

"Shhhhh."The ringing gets louder and he tries to tell it to quiet down. Has he ever heard that sound before? He isn't sure. He doesn't remember ever hearing it. Does that mean he's dying? Well, ****. He didn't even put a POA on all the money he's saved up. All his hard work for nothing. Life can be a ***** like that sometimes.

[Jesse Fforde]

Rhett’s reaction is enough to answer Jesse’s question, even though there are no words attached to it. There’s no swearing, no nods, no shaking of the head. Does Rhett even open his eyes? Blink? Does he even know where he is? Yeah, Jesse knows he’s taken too much. His head spins as he swallows, still tasting the blood at the back of his throat. It tastes bitter, now. It tastes like guilt. Looking at Rhett beside him, Jesse collapses onto his own backside, breathing in deep. Rhett might be the one who’s dying, but that part of their life flashes before Jesse’s eyes.

He remembers how Rhett was. How good he was. How much he had influenced Jesse. Had Jesse ever thanked him? Probably not. And now here they were, and Jesse has killed him. That’s not thanking anyone for anything. This… isn’t a whim, is it? Rhett was good before, and he’s still good now. And he could be good for the family. He could. He could help them, like he had helped Jesse.

The Necromancer swears under his breath and lifts his wrist to his mouth, tearing open a gaping wound which immediately begins to pulse and spill blood. He slides a hand beneath Rhett’s head to hold it up, before pressing the bleeding wound to his lips.

”Sorry, Rhett. But it’s not your time yet, buddy. Drink up,” he says, his voice gruff and his head still spinning from his recent consumption of blood. His gut still hurts, not at all healed. Probably not such a great idea to sire someone in the state that he’s in, but why not? Why the **** not? It’s Rhett. There’s no other choice.