‡ flat-liner ‡

[Clarke]

I can see my demise…
… behind your eyes

She had always thought that when her time came to die, it would be a simple moment. She would run into God’s welcoming arms without complaint and surrender herself to his light. Yet, as she remained prone on the ground, the chill of the cement seeping into her skin, she realized she was fighting. For all of her delay, for all of her inner battles, she was still fighting. That had to count for something, didn’t it? If she were still here – with the knowledge of what she was choosing – she was meant to live, wasn’t she? God would not give her more than he thought she could handle. He would not have put her in this situation, laid this choice before her, and not expect her to choose survival.

He wanted her to live, and she was dying.

It was easy enough to see in his eyes, even if her own were half-closed. She could see herself in the sharpness of his gaze, see her death play out within the dark pools. Her death was close, the Reaper just waiting on the sidelines, his ghastly arms opened wide to accept her. It would only take a second longer – and so she moved. Somehow, she found the strength within herself to lift her head so her lips would curve around the welcoming wound, her tongue pressing to the splash of crimson the leaked from his veins. As she fed, she felt the warmth of her tears escape, and she knew that she was crying for what she was about to lose.

He could soften the blow with his charming voice, he could tell her that it wasn’t that bad, that the curse wouldn’t take her over, but she knew. In order to survive, she had to give up a part of herself, one that she had held onto since she had been born. With each pull of his blood into her veins, she was tarnishing that warm, golden light that had shined so bright within her. When she finally allowed herself to release his wrist, to fall back to the ground and close her eyes, she wept for who she had once been – and then she lifted her hands from her stomach, dried her eyes, and asked the question she hadn't had time to.

“Who are you?”

[Harrison]

Was this the way it was always destined to be? Harrison had been turned on the edge of a swollen tributary, its water poisonous and the city through which it ran broken and decrepit (though it was no longer broken, but instead revived by his sire). And now here he was, turning a woman on a street, the dirty pavement beneath them. Would it always be on a whim? Or would it one day be planned, in a room with clean sheets and a willingness to claim immortality? Would anyone ever claim it willingly?

Despite the tears that streamed from her eyes, her lips closed around the wound of his wrist. The blood was pulled unnaturally from veins that did not function as they ought to anymore. It stung, but he did nothing beyond twitch, just a little. This was not something he had done before, and it was a sensation that he had to come to terms with.

He waited until she had had enough; he waited until the blood started to work its magic. Soon she would heal. Soon, her body would start rejecting everything that was human. The process of turning hadn’t been pretty for Harrison but it had only lasted an hour or two before he was born fresh with new eyes and a greater appreciation for life.

Eventually she stopped and he took his wrist back, pressing it to the cloth of his shirt to stem the bleeding. It wouldn’t take long to clot; mere minutes to heal. He didn’t rush the woman, didn’t make her stand up or move too fast. No one had disturbed them yet, and the spirits had drifted away, though they still lingered at the periphery of his vision. He could feel their contempt. Or maybe he was just imagining it?

”My name is Harrison McPhearson,” he said. ”It’s a pleasure to meet you, officially…” he added with a small smile. He wouldn’t congratulate her, he wouldn’t make light of the situation. But he could, and would always be kind.

[Clarke]

Offer me that deathless death…
… Good God, let me give you my life.

Lifting her hand, she slowly brought it to her chest, where her fingers inched beneath the torn and bloodied cloth of her shirt. It didn’t take her long to find the tiny piece of plastic, and once she was certain that it was there – and safe – she let her hands fall to the side, palms touching the cement. She could feel the change shift throughout her form, the sinful darkness of his blood washing away whatever light had remained within her – or perhaps that was all within her own mind. Biting into the corner of her lip, she tasted the blood from the cracked skin, and winced. She needed a shower. She needed a bed, her phone, her family – no. No, she couldn’t think of them. Not yet. Not now.

When he spoke his name without asking for her own, she narrowed her eyes and finally began the slow, agonizing movements of lifting herself from the ground. Using her palms for support, she hoisted herself up into an upright position, though her body screamed out in protest. Silencing the cry of pain between clenched teeth, the blonde turned to focus on the man at her side, dull eyes searching his features. She didn’t know what she thought to pull from the line of his jaw or the concern in his eyes, but she tried. With each second that ticked by, she studied him, her brows drawn low – before finally, finally she laughed. There was no humor within the sound, no life and no light. It was as hollow as her heart.

“Everleigh Clarke, but I just go by Clarke,” the Southerner finally answered, her voice lacking the warmth that it had held only hours before. She knew, in the back of her mind, she wouldn’t remain like this. She wouldn’t stay cold and lifeless. It wasn’t possible, was it? Working her fingers through her matted hair, she offered a quiet groan and shook her head. “Mama would skin my hide if I didn’t thank you for saving my life, so thank you. Even if it meant that I’m going to be like that thing, thank you.” Hiding her anger with conversation, she smoothed a hand down her stomach, and though she was could still feel the pain flickering throughout her corpse, she knew she was already on the mend.

That, at least, was something, wasn’t it?

[Harrison]

Harrison stood and offered a hand to help Clarke to her feet. They weren’t done, yet. If she would allow it, he would stand by her, help her, support her even if she hated what she had become. Even if she hated him, even if her apology was not genuine, even if it was uttered only because she felt obliged. Harrison nodded. He didn’t need any thanks. It had been a task, to lance such selfishness out of him, but he’d succeeded in the end. That good feeling a person gets when they do something good, that need for approval, the high from the thanks. Now, Harrison didn’t feel good for saving Clarke’s life. He didn’t accept her thanks. There would be hurdles ahead, through which she might consider taking that thanks back.

”You will not be like that thing. Technically, I am a vampire the same as he was, but where he would play with you and kill you, I would save you. There are differences in vampires just as there are differences in men. Evil is not implicit only because you now live forever,” he said slowly, reassuringly. Though he would not judge her hate or her fear -- he could only reveal to her the conclusion that he himself had come to.

”You don’t feel any different, do you? You feel like the same person you always were, right? So can’t you then say you haven’t lost your soul?” he asked. His own wounds were slow to heal, but they would heal. He was not afraid of them, or of the pain. ”How do you feel?” he asked. She clearly was unhappy, and by the way her fingers had spread over her stomach, she was still in some pain. But there was no harm in asking after her well being; he knew that it was wrong to assume.

[Clarke]

You were my savior…
… in my time of need

As much as she wanted to remain on the ground, to allow the cement to crack beneath her and swallow her whole, she knew that she couldn’t. That didn’t stop her from eyeing the hand that he offered, the long fingers waiting to curl around her own seemingly… intimidating… somehow. She knew the moment that she lifted her hand, that she placed it within his, her nightmare would come to life. Already, she was half-way up, her body struggling with the wounds she had sustained. It was foolish to not accept the help that he offered her, it was downright shameful to sit there on the cold concrete and glare at him as if she were a child throwing a tantrum. Even still, she couldn’t bring herself to lift her hand.

It’s not as though this is his fault, she thought bitterly, even as her nails scraped against the sidewalk. She was growing stiff and cold as she battled with herself, before finally, she bowed her head. She was being childish. She was being rude. There was no turning back now. She had accepted her fate the moment she allowed his toxic blood to splash across her tongue. What did she plan to do, then? Live her life as a monstrous statue in this very spot? With a quick shake of her head, she finally peeled her hand from the ground to place it within his, the grit of the sidewalk grinding against his skin as she slowly hauled herself to her feet. She moved with the grace of a newborn fawn, her legs twisting this way and that as she tried to find the balance that she needed to stand on her own.

“I hope you’re right, darlin’,” she whispered, eyes unfocused as she tried to calm the fire that burned through her skull. Before, she had been almost wary to touch him – and now, she leaned her body into his, her fingers curling around his shoulder as she hid her face against his chest. It was only for a second, a few moments of silence as she collected her bearings. It didn’t take long, and the fire began to die down to a warmth lick of flame against her brain, and she was able to pull away, her arms falling to her sides as her fingers tugged at the tattered hem of her shirt.

“I do feel different, because for once in my life, I feel like I could murder a man,” she argued, before swiping her tongue across the cracked skin of her lower lip. He didn’t feel the anger inside of her – an anger she hadn’t felt before. She had endured a lot in her life, but never once had she felt as though she could kill someone. Of course, had that come before – or after – her death? Thoughts of her boyfriend – no, ex boyfriend – ran rampant through her mind, and the blue of her eyes turned a chilling shade as she snapped her teeth together momentarily. “Of course, I can’t go blamin’ that on you. You were a stranger and you thought to help me. No, my anger lies with Jackson. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have been in this position to begin with, and you wouldn’t have had to… do what you did.” She could bring herself to say that he killed her – he didn’t – but she didn’t know the proper term for what he had done to her. Had he saved her? Had he condemned her, ruined her – or had he made her whole? Had he lead her to her destiny? If this hadn’t been God’s plan, surely she wouldn’t be standing here, her fingers reaching to brush a few drops of blood from her jaw. None of it mattered in that moment, though. Even as the anger coursed through her, the memory of his betrayal pushing her further and further to the edge, she knew the truth.

It was written on her face, gleaming in the bright of her eyes.

She wouldn’t hurt him.

Throwing her hands in the air, she shoved them through her hair before she dropped her arms again, her movements stiff, uncertain.

“What… do I do now?”

[Harrison]

Harrison did not need to know how to read minds to realise that Clarke was wary of him. It did not offend him, or insult him. He might have said that were he in her shoes he might have felt the same way, but that wasn’t true. He had been in her shoes, and not all too long ago either. He hadn’t been wary of his sire, nor any variation thereof. Enver was the source of his change, and thus the source of what information he required to take the next step in this life. At a very basic level, anyway—since then, Enver had become more than that, and Harrison would always be thankful that his life had been saved.

Murder, of course, was not a light subject but regardless, Harrison smirked. He nodded in half understanding; he didn’t know who Jackson was or what exactly he had done to put Clarke in this situation, but Harrison could understand her anger despite his lack of knowledge.

”Violence will come more easily, your emotions will be heightened. It is an unfortunate side-effect of what we are. But you are strong,” he said. He didn’t know Clarke from Adam, but he could still reassure her of her strength. ”And you can resist the urge. There are things you will have to do that you won’t enjoy, but they need to be done in order to help control those urges,” he said. She knew what he was. Surely, she had to know what he was talking about. Still, he knew that he would have to spell it out for her so that it would truly sink in. So that he didn’t appear to be afraid of this thing that he had done. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, remaining a steadfast pillar for this woman whose life had been turned upside down.

But, as she would surely be hungry, so too was Harrison. In saving her, he too had lost blood that would need to be replenished.

”Blood is what will sustain you, but it’s not so hard to come by. We can buy it on the black market. I assume they get the supplies from the hospitals which isn’t ideal. You can get it from animals. Depending on the abilities you develop, you might be able to replenish yourself, without having to feed at all. To take from other people, you don’t have to kill them. It’s not like the movies. You can leave them none the wiser,” he said. People, because to him there was no distinction. He would still call himself human. At his core, he was still human.

”That’s something we should take care of first. After that… we’ll just take it step by step. Do you want to tell me what you were doing that had that vampire so… irate?” he asked, stepping back only so that he could get a better look at Clarke. At his new and first childe.

[Clarke]

Blood is what will sustain you.
Blood, blood, blood…

It wasn’t something that she had thought of. It wasn’t something that she ever thought she’d have to think of. She had read the stories, she had watched the movies, heard the horrific tales, but now…

She was living it.

“Blood,” she replied slowly, the word drawn from her as if it wasn’t repeating in her mind, as if she wasn’t fighting to keep from clawing out her own throat. It made sense, of course. Blood was to vampires as oxygen was to humans, wasn’t it? Without it, they weakened. They became malnourished and frail. They went mad, and then they… died. At least, that was what her mind was telling her as she tried to wrap her head around the notion that she needed blood. As he continued to talk, to explain all of the things she knew she needed to hear, she tried to tune him out. She tried to forget the past five minutes – but it didn’t work. She couldn’t. She couldn’t forget what Jackson had done. She couldn’t forget what Harrison had done to rectify it. He had saved her, and now, she was condemned to a life of blood and darkness. It was all so… bleak.

Working her fingers through her hair, she winced as she felt the wound in her shoulder pull, her fingers soon dropping to press against the burnt hole in her jacket. When she pulled away, her skin was stained red, but the wound was almost closed. Her body had already begun to weave her flesh back together, to make her whole again, to make her complete – and she found herself once again fighting a wave of nausea. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t right – but it was what she had chosen. It was the path that had been laid out before her, and instead of dying, instead of finding God – she chose life. Pushing the thought from her mind – and all other arguments that she might try to have with herself – she lifted her gaze back to his and cocked her head to the side, lips curving into a dry smile.

“Irate? That’s such a calm word for what he was, sugar. I think he was more akin to a bull with a red flag waved in front of his face.” With a quiet laugh – one that finally had a touch of humor to it – she dipped her hand into the front of her shirt. It took all of two seconds for her to pull free the small card. It looked so innocent, so unassuming there between her fingers, yet she knew what it held on it. She knew the truth – and for some reason, she was choosing to trust him with it. Maybe it was his eyes, the kindness she saw there. Maybe it was the fact he had risked himself for her, or maybe it was his blood in her veins, piecing her body together once more. Whatever it was, she found herself able to trust him.

“This. I came here for the hunt, really. There’s a reward circulating, for the first photographer to catch proof of the strange occurrences here in Harper Rock. A small town girl like me couldn’t pass that up, y’know? So, I came here and went to the first place I could think of that would hold a little mystery – the cemetery. I saw some strange things goin’ on, but I’m good at my job, I was layin’ low – until Jackson. He came up, got me all kinds of jumbled up, and the flash went off. I didn’t know it was a vampire at the time, obviously, but I guess we don’t take too kindly to our picture bein’ taken.”

[Harrison]

Harrison laughed, though he knew he shouldn’t have.

He laughed because he was relieved, as he’d had no idea why Clarke was digging down the front of her shirt; he was almost definitely sure he had no idea how he’d react if she’d done anything other than pull out a small, inconspicuous chip. And he laughed because she said ‘we’. He laughed because he disagreed—mostly.

”Maybe, if you catch us in unflattering positions. But then no one likes to be photographed in unflattering positions,” he said with a subtle wink. ”You’ll find that you won’t be able to see yourself in a mirror…” he said. Still somewhat new to the whole ordeal himself, Harrison was not yet aware of Allurists and their particular curse in regards to mirrors. So this was not something he mentioned to Clarke. ”But cameras, technology these days… they don’t have mirrors in them. So we can be seen on film, yeah? So ah… say you’re male and your facial hair still grows and you need a shave. Cameras come in real handy,” he said. It was a bit of trial and error of course, but he got there in the end—though he often chose to wear no facial hair at all. It was much easier. He assumed women would have an easier time with their make-up, too, once they figured it out.

”I’m sure you could still get paid if you turned yourself in? But it’s probably not advisable…” he said. The relationship between vampires and humans was precarious, teetering on the edge of a blade. Harrison wasn’t optimistic that it would fall in their favour; instead, he was pretty damned certain that vampires would soon see their heads being chopped off for the sake of public safety. And he wasn’t sure he entirely disagreed.

The spirits he often spoke to—some of them had died from ordinary circumstances. A car crash, suicide, sudden illness. They had their stories and their unfinished business was easy to determine. There were far too many, however, who’d had their lives taken by vampires who’d been too selfish and who’d taken too much. Violent creatures.

Though Harrison was aware that some vampires found it hard to control themselves, and who never intended to kill those they fed from, he also knew that there were plenty who held no respect for human life. They were the ones ruining it for everyone else. They were the ones he’d gladly see with their heads removed from their necks—somewhere outside the city limits, if possible.

”What do you think you’ll do with it?” he asked, nodding to the chip that Clarke held. He also gestured for her to walk by his side; she hadn’t indicated what her preference might be in regards to blood. They could figure it out on the way… to wherever it was they ended up.

[Clarke]

“I suppose they don’t,” she chuckled, though the sound wasn’t as bright as it should have been. She knew she would come around, she knew she would be able to feel whole again – to feel real again – but right now, it was still too… surreal. She still couldn’t believe that she wasn’t on the ground, her blood soaking her clothing as she waited for help. She couldn’t believe that when she had pleaded with God to show her the light, he had cursed her with an eternity of darkness. Her grandmother’s words still played through her mind, giving her what she needed to put one foot in front of the other, to keep pushing through the self-loathing and doubt that clouded her mind.

She could wallow in what happened – or she could accept it.

There wasn’t an inkling of darkness in the man at her side. He didn’t look violent, he didn’t seem to be a monster, but she had seen wolves wrapped in the clothing of sheep before. They tended to attack at the last moment, to reveal their true selves when it was least expected, but as he spoke, she couldn’t imagine it. His eyes, though they seemed tortured, spoke of the genuine warmth in his soul, and she found herself trusting him. She trusted the way he smiled and the words he spoke, she believed in what he said and the way he held himself. She believed in him. “I agree, I don’t think turnin’ myself in is the best option, sugar, but I don’t know what I plan to do with it.”

Before this – before she had been left to on her own – the answer had been simple. Get the drive to where it needed to be, get the cash, and ruin Jackson’s life. It had been so simple – and now, she had no idea. She hadn’t the slightest clue where she would go from here, or what she would do. The only thing she knew for certain – was that she wasn’t going to leave this man’s side. If she was going to survive this, she needed him to help guide her. She was smart enough to know when she was in over her head, and this was one of those times. Without him, she would drown. Without him, she had no one else.

The poor man had thought he was just going for a walk, and ended up adopting a stray.

[Harrison]

Sugar, she said, and Harrison gave a subtle snort. No one had ever called him sugar before, but then nor had he met a Southerner before. He imaged himself as a little cube that could be dropped into a mug of tea, something sweet to bring joy to the tastebuds of others. Well, maybe she wasn’t so far off. He determined to bring joy to others, but it wasn’t only to their tastebuds. He determined to ease their suffering and bring them some modicum of comfort.

”The chip doesn’t matter right now,” he said with a shrug. What she wanted to do with it, whether she ended up doing anything with it at all, didn’t matter. Harrison was consciously wending his steps in the direction of one of the shops. He thought it wrong, the theft of blood bags to feed the vampires, but he could see the good in it, too. He could see that by feeding from the bags, some vampires were kept from their violent natures. He could see their value, despite not liking them himself.

”We’ll ease you into it, yeah? Blood,” he said. She’d avoided the subject before but he brought them back around to it. It couldn’t be avoided.

”We’ll start with the blood packs. It’ll be easier, less confronting,” he said. There was no rush. They had time. ”I don’t have a lot of money but I can lend you some, if you need it. The packs aren’t cheap, and the price fluctuates depending on how hard they are to acquire, I guess,” he said with a shrug. The way he figured it, if humans weren’t afraid of vampires they’d be more willing to sell the stuff, to source it. The less inclined they were to help vampires, the more a vampire would have to pay to get a hold of it.

That the packs were a little more expensive right now didn’t bode well, but that much was obvious, wasn’t it? Clarke wasn’t exactly happy at the outcome, which could only mean she’d only heard bad things.