Silence in Black and White [Balthazar]

[Clover]

Clo wrapped her hands around his neck and squeezed. Her head tilted to the side, she watched with nothing but fascination as his lips parted and he struggled to take that next breath, that next, lifesaving gulp of oxygen. In the moments following, as his limbs flailed, as his short nails clawed at her wrists, she frowned at him. Before the struggle became too great for him, she released her hold on his neck and ended their little game. He hadn’t been enough fun. They hadn’t had enough fun. He coughed, struggling to take in the oxygen he’d so desperately wanted only seconds prior, and she sat beside him on the ground. He couldn’t even pause in his heavy breathing to yell at her, to curse her, to threaten her. They stayed like that for several minutes, him trying to regain his composure and her trying to decide what it was she’d expected out of the situation. She’d simply expected something more, something greater, and he’d disappointed her in the way many things had grown to disappoint her. He was high, half out of his mind, and in his haze, he reached out to touch her shoulder. Clover stared at his fingers, the slightly crooked digits, and then followed the line along to his face. Without saying anything, Clo dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out twenty dollars. She threw the crumpled bills at the man, the notes hitting him in his chest, and then hauled herself to her feet. He scrambled to collect the bills before the light wind took them away. They hadn’t made an arrangement, but their exchange felt like one.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Messy. She’d grown so messy, so careless. And, one night, maybe that would get her killed. But not that night. The man, clearly homeless, stared up at her from his knees. His skin ashen and cold to the touch, he looked as if he’d known a harder life than Clo could even imagine. She didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want him to hear her accent, didn’t want him to recall her voice, but she spoke anyway. He wouldn’t remember, she told herself. He’d taken so much that he probably wouldn’t remember any of the night. “I’m done,” she said, as if she could simply wipe her hands clean of him and disappear into the night. And she could. She intended to. Instead of showing relief, even joy, the man began to weep. He scrubbed the filthy money across his eyes as if he’d been graced with the softest of tissues, and then he crumbled the bills. He waved a fist at her, communicating emotions she couldn’t quite understand. “Don’t you want to live?”

“I have nothing,” he said. “I have nothing.”

Confused, Clover didn’t know what to say to him; more importantly, she didn’t know what to do for him. He had nothing. At one point, she’d had nothing. She’d felt the same crushing emotions, the ones she’d only just misunderstood. Anger. Disappointment. Sadness. “Don’t you have a home?” She expected him to say no, but he nodded. Slowly, hesitantly, he’d nodded. “Go home,” she suggested. “I’m not in the mood to kill,” she finally admitted. He’d disappointed her in the way that she’d disappointed him. Her thirst for blood seemed almost absent, or maybe she’d just grown accustomed to the endless ache. She could feed from him, dismember him, and leave him to rot in the sunlight, but he didn’t deserve such a storybook ending. She took those first few steps away, her boots crunching on dry leaves, and he looked as if he were going to go after her, to beg her to take his life away. She read what he wanted in his blue eyes, but she denied him. “Go home,” she repeated.

Clo could have gone home, but she didn’t want to face anyone yet. The old man had been one giant puzzle. What kind of person escaped death only to cry out for the same thing? A mental illness. A suicidal desire. Clo understood those things, but he didn’t fall into either category. He seemed fine, and yet mental illness wore many masks. Clover turned back to stare at the man, but he hadn’t moved. Still on his knees, his head bowed, he stared down at the ground. He looked like another pitiful excuse of a human being. She drew the gun from its holster, the weapon previously concealed by her black cardigan, and fired off a single shot. The bullet tore through the front of the man’s skull and blew out the back of his head. He collapsed onto his side, the money still clenched in his hands. She didn’t understand the ugly feeling which circled around her, tightening around her as if it were a python. Something told her not to go home. Again, she brushed the idea aside. She put the gun away and took off toward the Newborough station. She left the slums behind as if she were washing some unseen filth from her hands. When she awoke from her dazed state, she found herself in Cherrydale, such a long way from the southern section of the city.

As she slowly navigated her way through the district, she felt as if she were exploring foreign territory. Clo hadn’t spent much time in the northern half of the city, preferring the slums to anywhere else. When she came upon the theater, she took note of the few groups of people gathered outside of the entrance. They had lit cigarettes, popcorn buckets, and concession-stand sodas. “What’s playing?” She asked the first group of people, the ones closest to the entrance. Oddly enough, they all smiled at her. They told her that it was black-and-white night at the theater. The place ran black-and-white movies from dusk to dawn.

“We just saw The Killers with Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner,” one woman piped up.

“We’re seeing A Streetcar Named Desire next,” another added. “I just love Marlon Brando!”

After the group dissolved into their own little conversations, Clover turned and made her way into the building. She’d expected a lot of film fanatics, possibly a full house, but the place only had about seven people in line for tickets, four people in line for the concession stand, and a group of six exiting theater two. Clo stood in line, but she had to read the overhead signs to get an idea for which film to see. White Heat. Train robberies. Gun fights. Police chases. She needed a good black-and-white film. Anything to take her mind of the strange old man she’d only just killed. Anything to get the echo of the gunshot out of her ears.

[Balthazar]

OFF THE RACK

Part of the motivation for Balthazar standing at the doors of the screen room was a minor, two plus hour escape. Nothing more than that really would bring people to where he currently stood. Well, perhaps that isn’t entirely true. Zar had nothing else to do at that particular moment and he was still feeling inclined to move through the motions of the human world around him to a degree. Blending could be a ***** at best but when the lights went down and the crowds of beating hearts and tempting pulses around him settled into a peaceful rhythm he didn’t stand out quite so much. It killed time he had to waste as of late. He was entitled to waste it in a theater if he wanted to just like anyone else.

Balthazar never did well with just sitting around staring at surrounding walls. His stint with the local golf courses and fetching the last of their players seasonable stray and water entombed balls had ended. In fact this would be the time of the year that would have him taking his updated passport and migrating south. If the states didn’t need him he would likely be hopping a VIP flight overseas to resume his work in the luxury of warmer climates surrounded by new faces and generous wallets. The skilled diver was surprisingly in demand in the business he was in. When the predictable calls started coming in he gave out the same excuse to the incoming bids trying to secure him under new contracts. Regretfully he was taking a year off. He needed it for personal reasons and really given the condition he was in that much was true.

Balthazar successfully located the lost boy Christopher Fforde had been hiding up in the land of wolves, bears and blood suckers, oh my! Lost boy really didn’t cover what he ended up face to face with. It was more like a scene out of some production that would be shown on any of the given screens under the massive roof currently looming over his hooded head. Proof was next to impossible to avoid as well as the effects of the unexpected drop in on a vampires turf. Zar stumbled across the last thing he was prepared to find. When he did he was hit with a life changing shock to his warm blooded system. Long story short Balthazar found himself needing to overhaul his vagabond lifestyle while investing in more pressing needs than the routine set of fins and diving suit.

“Excuse me.” A shoulder brushed against his and inspired the turn of his head while he stepped to the right to offer space to whoever was needing to get through. He discovered a woman with no less than five children in tow. Each pint size potential for trouble happened to be cradling single size buckets of popcorn glazed with hot butter. He watched them file by like ducklings being led to the water.“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He was too quick to comment and the sharp bite of a miniature foot connecting to his shin had him glaring down at the offender.
“Your mustache is ugly!” The little terror brave enough to acknowledge the bold move stuck out it’s rather healthy pink and blue stained tongue. “And so are you!”
“Chelsea!” The woman went at least five shades of pink and into full red at the ears as she yanked the child closer to her side. “I am so sorry. She has had some issues recently.”
“She is cute.” Balthazar lacked an expression that would give clues as to how the comment should be taken. The attack would not get him to move from where his feet were planted.
“Am not!” A second sharp bite to his opposite shin was delivered leaving the woman in charge gasping in shock.
“And smart.” He ignored the fading sensation on his lower legs beneath his dark pants. “She must be yours.” He winked while his mustache twitched.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” A squeal of kids in the distance and doors rattling had the woman yanking the child off her feet. The sudden move had small puffy clouds of yellow and white falling to the floor while in pursuit of the group instead of getting her answer.

The doors to his chosen movie of the night finally opened to reveal a theater attendant with a broom and dust pan in hand. The lanky college student set the items where they appeared to be routinely stored behind a ceiling high artificial plant. After a quick sip from a water bottle that was tucked under the small podium he stepped up to the velvet rope that was meant to block people from entering before their tickets were taken.

“Ticket?” The expectation was aired and Balthazar followed through with the ease of handing his over. As the sound of paper was in the process of being torn in half he found the employee eyeing him with awareness. “I would think it would suck not being able to enjoy popcorn or whatever with the movie.”
“I would think you have been watching too many of your movies.” It was hardly a brilliant retort much less a save of discovery on his new place in the vampiric race. But ask him if he really cared.“I ate already. Sugar does a number on me and I have certain fluid requirements that I choose to adhere to.” Figuring that would be the end of it he passed through and made his way to the opening where the movie White Heat would be playing.
“Good. That means I won’t have to bounce your *** out before the end of the movie, Captain Hook.”

As soon as Balthazar took a step and turned around the smartass disappeared like he was needing to find cover. It figured. What was it about him that worked up people to the point they were far closer to monster status than he ever truly was? He called it for what it was and brushed it off. With the hood still in place over his head and beneath his leather jacket he gradually walked down the aisle scanning the rows of available seats as he did. Choosing an empty row he slipped in and sat down. The length of his legs popped up then stretched out while landing on the back of the seat in front of him. His hips inched down so that he felt comfortable while his hands disappeared into the satin lining of his jacket. All that was left to do was to wait for the show to start.

[Clover]

The line lurched forward and slowly thinned out. Clover watched as couples joined hands and wandered over to numbered showing rooms. When she reached the front of the line, Clo reached into the right pocket of her sweater and produced a few bills. The boy behind the counter looked bored, whether with her or with his job in general, she couldn’t tell. “White Heat,” she said, not waiting for the boy to say anything. Something told her he would have continued to stand there, his blank stare enough to force them both into an awkward stretch of silence. After he took her money and deposited the slightly wrinkled bills into his register, he waited for the ticket to print. His register stopped midway and he let out a frustrated sigh. Clo wanted to reach across the desk and drive his head into the register, thinking that would solve both problems, but she didn’t get the opportunity. The register finished printing the ticket and the teen quickly snatched it and tore it off.

“Theater three,” the boy said, placing the ticket atop the counter and sliding it over toward her. “Enjoy your movie.”

She didn’t know why she muttered a quick thank you, but she did. As a human, she’d been to the theater plenty of times. Every time, she’d treated herself to a bucket of popcorn and a large soda. Clo didn’t realize she’d stepped up to the concession stand until a bubbly brunette asked her what she wanted. “Um,” Clo said, showing off her mastery of the English language. “Just give me a large popcorn, extra butter. And an orange soda. Large.” Clo hardly had any cash left on hand. She pulled out her last bit of money and dumped the bills and change onto the countertop. “This should be enough.” She said it as if she didn’t know the exact amount she needed. She’d ordered her usual -- well, the usual from years ago -- and the girl just smiled, almost knowingly.

“Here you go!” Chipper as ever, the girl slid a large bag of popcorn across the counter and then plopped down a full cup of soda. “Jesus, did you see that kid? She just kicked that guy. Kids are so vicious these days!” The girl had a hand covering her mouth. Clo turned to try and catch a glimpse of the offending child and her victim. “Gosh, that guy looked like a creep though,” the girl said, feigning a shudder.

“I’ll let him know you said that,” Clo smiled. She grabbed her popcorn in one hand, her soda in the other, and wandered off toward theater three. Another attendant stood at the entrance to theater three. The guy yawned, one fist half covering his mouth. He didn’t even get the opportunity to ask for Clover’s ticket before she ripped her own in half and stuffed it into the tiny pocket on his uniform shirt. “I took care of it myself. Thanks.” The guy narrowed his eyes at her and fished around in his pocket to get the ticket stub out. She didn’t wait for him to verify whether or not she had the right to enter the theater. He didn’t chase after her, so something must have been right.

When the doors swung shut behind her, locking into place with a dull thud, Clo immersed herself in the dark interior of the theater. She heard a few whispered conversations scattered about the dark room, but other than that, she didn’t take note of much else. If it weren’t for the overwhelming stench of her buttered popcorn, she might have noticed the familiar scent much sooner. Serpentine. Someone smelled like the interior of Serpentine. No, someone smelled like Jesse. No, someone smelled like Fforde. Clo paused in the aisle, holding up a couple from moving forward. They were about to complain, she could tell, so she turned and shoved her bag of popcorn into the man’s arms. “Here, use it to hide your junk while she jerks you off,” she wanted to say, but she moved on without a word.

Clo had to follow the scent from the aisle along several rows of seats. When she pinpointed the exact location of the scent, she found herself staring at a hooded figure. She wanted to say something, but her words failed her. The movie started, the black-and-white logo for Warner Brothers slowly fading away the screen. James Cagney. Virginia Mayo. White Heat. Clover walked down the aisle and dropped into the seat next to the hooded figure. In the dim lighting, she made out the infamous mustache, and then, with the light leaking from the screen and shining from the floor’s LED lights, she made out the rest of his facial features. Balthazar. Clo held out the drink, as if offering him a sip, and then she slipped the cup into the cup holder between them. “I see I’m not the only one looking for a James Cagney kind of night.”

The two had seen one another in passing, and they’d officially met in Serpentine, but they’d never really held a conversation, not at length. They weren’t best friends. They weren’t enemies. Clo didn’t know what to make of him, except she tried to be better with him, for him, for Jesse. She put everything into not hating him. She put everything into avoiding paranoia. She’d tried so hard to like Rhett -- no, she’d tried hard enough not to hate him. If Rhett meant something to Jesse, then Balthazar meant more. That’s how family worked, right? “Do you even like black-and-white movies?” The question seemed so insignificant, after she’d asked, but she didn’t know what else to say, what else to ask. She wanted to tell him that she was trying, that she wanted to try, but she eyed him with suspicion. “Tell me you won’t turn into a ghost, that you won’t bail when things get tough,” she wanted to say, but, instead, she toyed with the straw sticking out of her cup. “My parents introduced me to these kinds of movies. I don’t mind them. This is one of my favorites. This and Double Indemnity.”

[Balthazar]

Balthazar felt the presence moving in and settling beside him. It was one of those he had discovered would present itself within him when he was around Jesse, Ross and even the elusive Charlie when rarely spotted. He had been told it was something in the blood that made it easier to know what was around him even if he couldn’t always see it. Blood was far more diverse than the A, B, O positive-neutral-negative-who-gives-an-actual-**** Z and Y whatever types. Zar discovered in a fast breakdown of the very basics what he would need to keep in mind about vampiric blood. There were several reasons he needed to know what he was dealing with, potentially exposed to.

It was cold, sometimes black and floated. It could be the very source for another fang bearer to read a set of the deepest memories and betray the mind holder drop by drop. It could even be poisonous depending on the owner and the circumstances. There was far more to worry about than the gloves, gown and eye equipment to avoid contamination. It could be what outed one to those they perhaps wanted to avoid. It made it that much easier to track someone down. In general it could get someone set up for something worse than death. He had been there and pretty much done all that and wasn’t looking to see what was rumored to be ‘worse’. He was bright enough to see the merits of avoiding all that if possible. He recently arrived. Balthazar Fforde was in no hurry to be leaving anytime soon.

Not that the one beside him was fitting into any of that. Clover was lumped in with what he had been told was ‘family’ in terms of this whole bloodline thing he was given the skinny on. Biological ties to Jesse aside meant that the woman next to him was sleeping with his boss, the head honcho of Fforde. The woman with dark hair and contrasting skin that was pale enough to warrant a second glance was the mate to the vampire that brought him into the depths of darkness which he would eternally dwell. Legally she was his sister-in-law. Or so he had been told. That piece of legal paper didn’t mean much. In the end either world they once belonged to or were currently part of confirmed that they were connected by something no court of law could touch, blood in the very least or the very most. 'Did he like silver screen movies?' If he wasn’t in the mood he wouldn’t have been sitting there. Zar was never one to do something he didn’t want to.

“I do.” He responded to her first question while glancing from beneath his hood to the movement of her hand which had a drink in it. He thought of sweetness that carried carbonation that used to appeal to him and quench a salty-butter world that would have been in his mouth. Now he was void of that appreciation and was into something far more thick, filling and life threatening rich. The curled up hair handlebars at the corners of his mouth twitched subtly. “As a teenager I slept in a movie theater back in Seattle until they finally got tired of kicking me out and hired me.”

His long legs shifted so that the left one dropped with a heavy thud to the sloped flooring beneath the seats. The right stayed put where it was perfectly fine and still a potential annoyance to anyone who planned on sitting in front of him. His hands left his pockets and the dark permanent ink over pale lengths of fingers disappeared beneath the hood still perched on his head. A brushing back of hair and planned on dismissal of the unneeded cover took effect. His shoulders rolled back so he was again sinking in and entirely too comfortable. The facial ink could appear as unique shadows that clung to his temples and face but it would predictably go with him when it would be time to exit the theater.

“Anything from Cagney, Chaplin, Tracy, Cooper, Welles and Dean to Crawford, Rogers, Pickford Dietrich and Hepburn I can go for as well as those missing a mention. The list is endless. Hugh went for the lesser knowns and could watch Bela Lugosi all damn day and night. He was the true fan of silver screen.” It was still a thing for him. Hugh. He mentioned the man so effortlessly and out of habit that he wondered if that could eventually change or if it would stay true like the color of his hair, the certain lengths of his body. “How about you?” He studied her profile without leaning back to get a better look. “Favorites? Genres?” He stretched his long arm over the top of the empty seat on the opposite side of him.

[Clover]

Maybe she meant to lose something there, right then, right in the darkened movie theater. All of her memories. All of her problems. She leaned back into her seat and mimicked his posture. She propped both feet up on the seat in front of her, uncaring that her short boots had dried mud on the bottoms. Clo stopped toying with the straw and repositioned the cup in the cup holder, as if she’d reach for it later to try and get a refreshing drink. She listened to him list off names. The ghost of a smile appeared on her lips when he mentioned Crawford and Hepburn. She loved Katherine Hepburn, always had, but she decided not to interrupt him. She nodded along at his words -- she did agree with some of his choices. And she wanted to be polite, to show she listened, even if the darkened theater made her physical cue harder to see. “I have a lot of love for Cagney, but I also like Virginia Mayo. It’s why I chose White Heat. She’s stunning. I can appreciate her classic beauty. In the end, that’s the whole point of her character. To be beautiful, to be a classical bad girl,” Clo said, her eyes traveling from the screen so that she could stare at the person next to her. “Fred MacMurry was great in Double Indemnity, but I never did follow his career. I’m a big fan of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. The two of them were a power couple. I love Katherine Hepburn. Paul Muni was brilliant in Scarface. Cary Grant,” she said, sighing the last name. “Everyone has to love Cary Grant.”

She shifted in her seat, sliding further down in the chair until she reached a more comfortable, reclined position. Clo turned her attention back to the movie then, but she’d already missed most of the train-robbing scene. The guy had just been scalded with hot steam and they’d escaped the scene of the crime. Train robberies, how very old school. Black-and-white movies made her reminisce about her childhood, oddly enough. She mostly thought about her parents, rather than her sister. Her mother had been obsessed with Cary Grant. Clo supposed her own appreciation for the late screen hunk had something to do with said obsession. Her father had always liked Marilyn Monroe, which never came as a surprise. On one hand, Clo found her memories comforting; on the other hand, she found them so out of place. What did memories of her human life have to offer her? Nothing. Nothing but pain. Missed opportunities. Regret.

“So why are you here, is it really to watch a movie?” The words came from her mouth unbidden, but she didn’t try to collect them and shove them back down her throat. She allowed them to hang in the air, to gather in the way that her blood might have gathered, and disperse. “Personally,” she said, pausing only so she could hear Cagney have a total fit on the screen, “I assisted in a suicide, and I’d rather not take that home.” Honesty felt a lot better than deceit. She knew that. And, more importantly, she knew that honesty begot honesty. “It’s not the same as hunting and killing. It’s different. It’s not stealing anything. It’s finding a volunteer. I don’t want that. It’s sickening.” Cagney (“Cody”) and Wycherly (“Ma”) had finally gotten over Cagney’s explosive episode and the movie went on as usual. The whole movie revolved around Cagney, really, even though Mayo had been billed as a co-star. She was pretty. That was the only reason she was there. Clover felt that way sometimes, as if looks kept people around. It was a shame.

[Balthazar]

“To be in this seat and to see what happened a couple decades before I popped up on the planet.” His eyes left the drink that she was fiddling with and boldly settled on her face and what of it she would permit him to view.

Balthazar was not one to be tame when it came to answering a question. His brain and his lips were tethered together with a fast pass that often had him saying whatever was there. He was unapologetic for the directness that often accompanied it and he had no shame. No matter how it was to be taken he wasn’t going to waste his or their time trying to take it back. The scent she was carrying revealed more after the fact now that she mentioned it. Wherever she had been and what she had been involved in didn’t rank entirely high on his need to know list. She could have slaughtered half the church a few blocks down and that was her deal, something to weigh and balance on her own shoulders. He had his own baggage and wasn’t about to open up his unseen suitcase he carried it all in quite so readily.  Brother’s wife or not some **** he just kept to himself. How many anonymous donors he had taken in on his way to catch the show was done and dusted history. He wasn’t keeping any tally or score.

However, his voiced comment was geared toward a response as to why he was there. And it was the truth. He was fascinated with the depiction of the times that were represented in the cinematic capture of a time he was born too late to see as it originally happened. When Zar viewed a movie on the small private television or large public screen he saw more than the plot line, the investment of the message meant to be left with the theater patrons watching the rolling ending credits. He found himself visiting the world as it no longer was or ever would be again. A world he would always be looking at from the outside just as he was destined to do and born doing from his first breath. He was an outsider if there ever was one.

“I guess that is a yes.” His mustache twitched just enough as he kept his focus on her despite what was playing out on the screen. She had him more intrigued by the seconds that passed with silence between them in the darkness. “Can’t avoid taking it with you.” He disagreed and said as much. He finally commented on her claim that she assisted in it. “Once you participated you can’t separate yourself from it. It is deeper than the scent you walk away with. The recollection you can hold on to or choose to forget or not. The history that is and took place is permanent.” He caught a glimpse of the outline of her lips and their shape that certainly was unique as her mind worked out what he said. “I won’t say a thing.” Not that she needed to be told that because he figured more of her was comfortable with it all otherwise she wouldn’t be talking to him about it. Like a hook that caught him just for the sake of knowing the missing piece to her recent event he bothered asking. “Did you enjoy it?”

Balthazar knew all too well just because some found something sickening didn't mean it wasn't stimulating. Every action fed something within the participant. Willing or not. He was more than curious now as he waited for her answer. The rustling of late arrivals moving past them and searching for seats nearby didn't distract him fully. He might as well know if he was right on his guess. Classical bad girl or tormented angel. It didn't matter either way to him. Jesse's claim was all over her and he had no trouble seeing that.

[Balthazar]

In the darkness the shiver of his pocket had him sliding his hand into his pocket. A visible text lit up the screen as he turned it to discover Ross relating a message. The call back from a potential job offer finally came through. The movie was great and the company so far so good. But sitting on his *** absorbed in a story that wasn’t his own wasn’t going to pay the bills. He tucked the device back in his pocket as he leaned forward and stood up. He would see a lot of his brother’s wife. For now business wouldn’t wait.

“Catch you later. Have a call to make.” He nodded as he stepped away. “Enjoy the show.” With that said he headed up the center aisle and fast footed it out the lobby doors into the night.