Orphans Two [Mackinnley]

[Laura Gould (DELETED 5747)]

Laura could hear it, too. That steady rhythm of something that wasn’t the train, as it careened over the tracks. Trains had always creeped Laura out. Was there even a driver? Up there, somewhere, at the head of this violent, metal caterpillar. Regardless of how much the form of transportation had creeped her out, she’d used it. She’d tried not to think about it – either that, or she’d sit in the front carriage, where she could imagine the driver right through the wall next to her.

Now, however, the car that she’d inadvertently picked was somewhere near the back. Staring ahead, Laura could see through the doors that joined the carriages together. Whenever the train went around the bend, she could see the car ahead bend out of sight, the chairs twisted as if they belonged to some other alternate reality. The wheels screeched against the tracks, drowning out the lub-lub rhythm, of which she could not pinpoint the source.

But there was something that she could smell. Something beyond the acidity of urine, the stale bubblegum, of the leftover sweat of the all the children who’d packed into this particular car after finishing a long day at school. She knew that was a thing. She’d been on this very train with those children on many occasions before. She knew that smell. But she’d never known it to hang around so long. Even in the corner, over there under one of the other seats, was a white packet. She could not see through it, but she knew what was inside. A sandwich, which had been there a while. Salami, lettuce, and mayonnaise. Her nostrils flared. But it wasn’t the sandwich that she hungered for.

It was something else. Something fresh and warm. Something… what was it?!

But there was Kinney, with his arm over and around her shoulders. His body was solid next to hers, and she twisted so that she could curl into his side. So that she could bury her head between her own chest and his, with her knees still tucked up, her arms held tight against her chest. She had regressed. She was like a small child in dire need of a nap. Except it wasn’t quite as inane as that. There was a very real need to shield herself from the world; from the light up there, from that drum-beat that she could not stop listening to, which called to her. From everything.

She was comfortable there, curled up against Mackinnley. She merely nodded her head when he spoke, not daring to look up. She hadn’t read anything into his words. Somehow, she just assumed that wherever they ended up after this debacle, they would be together. She didn’t want to move when the train stopped. But she knew they had to, and so she followed Mackinnley. She wanted to complain about the pace. She wanted to tell him to stop, that she wanted to rest. That she wanted to just curl up in a ball somewhere and disappear from the world. It wasn’t reasonable. They had to forge on. They had to get to the hospital, and then it would all be better again.

It should have made her feel better as they rushed through the hospital doors; but as it was, Mackinnley had to drag her in. Instinct told her to keep away, but reason told her to keep going. She kept going. And she wished that she hadn’t.

Her green eyes went wide. There were people everywhere. Her nostrils flared; there was that infuriating drum beat again. Everywhere. Everywhere, everywhere but in her own chest. She sucked in a strangled breath as she realised what it was. Heartbeats. Everywhere, belonging to every moving body, big or small, sick or well. A cacophony of sound, and oh, oh. It sounded delicious. Could something sound delicious?! In that moment, Laura decided that it could. A man came through the doors behind them holding his hand to his chest. His hand was wrapped in cloth; cloth soaked through with red. He hardly glanced at the two of them as he passed them by, but Laura wanted to follow him. She wanted to lunge. She was going to, except.

Except her skin started to burn. She cringed; sharp canines scraped painfully over her dry lips as they curled back, as Laura lifted her fingers to her face. Her skin felt hot, as if it were baking beneath a midday sun in the middle of summer.

“Kinney…” she gasped. It got worse. The longer they stood there under the glaring lights, it got worse. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t see. It was too bright. The light burned her eyes, sucked out all the moisture, so that her vision blurred and she had to slam her eyes shut, squeeze tight. But even that hurt, like someone had poured onion juice inside.

Laura screamed. She couldn’t see to run. Her hand clawed for Mackinnley; she caught at his jacket, but fell to her knees. The heels of her palms pressed against her sockets and she sobbed. “It hurts… oh god it hurts!” she cried. She tried to curl up and in on herself. Tried to shield her own body from the glaring light, from the sounds of the people, from the scent, oh that smell! Laura wasn’t the kind of woman to make a big deal out of her pain. She normally suffered in silence. She did her best to remedy her own suffering. But here and now? The agony was all-consuming, and she was screaming, body and mind. Confused, and torn in half.

[Mackinnley (DELETED 5761)]

He was desperate.

His palms were planted on the counter of the desk, eyes squinted and darkened. His back was arched as if he was about to lunge himself at the receptionist. Actually, it was exactly what he wanted to do to her. He wanted thrust his full strength upon her, overpower her, and quench the ache he felt to the very root of his teeth. Yet, in the back of his mind, he knew that wasn't logical. That was not a normal thought or desire. Mac knew there was something wrong with them, with him. So, he pressed his palms harder into the desk to secure himself from doing something he knew he would regret immediately afterward. "Look," he emphasized, " There is something wrong with us. We were drugged. Someone tried to kidnap us. We. Need. To. See. A. Doctor. Now." Even though the woman before him appeared to be cool as a cucumber, she was anything but. He could smell the sweat pouring out of the pores in her armpits. He could almost taste the saltiness. The feeling of uneasy radiated off her aura.

"Sir, I understand. But you need to fill out these forms first. Then we will be with you when we can be," she assured, tapping the clipboard with various forms on it.

He couldn't even breathe, and thinking was becoming a challenge. It was too bright in the hospital. Too many noises going on at once, not only that, they were too loud. So many smells infiltrated his nostrils: from the metallic remembrance of blood to the gag worthy vomit. It was too much. All he wanted was for them to take their situation serious. How many people came into the emergency room claiming someone drugged them and attempted to kidnap them? It didn't happen often, he could bet on that.

"I'm telling you that someone drugged us and attempted to kidnap us, and you're tell me that I have fill out these," he picked up the clipboard and shook it at her, "...******* damn forms only to have to wait to see a doctor." He threw the clipboard down on the tile floor, the sound bouncing off the walls. That was when the redhead realized the waiting room had grown quiet, patrons eavesdropping and watching the scene play out before them at the desk.

The receptionist scooted back in her chair and it took every strand of fiber in Mac's body not to reach across the desk to jerk her back. Her eyes searched the area around her and he knew exactly who she was looking for: the security officer on duty. His blue eyes too glanced around for the man in uniform. Perhaps he had taken it too far but he didn't care. That repeated beat was driving him absolutely insane; he couldn't take it. Lub-dub. Lub-dub, repeated over and over. On top of that, now he could several pairs of eyes staring holes into the back of his head and into his back. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

"Please..." he pleaded, staring at the woman, "There's something terribly wrong with u-" He paused after he heard his name. Laura. How could he have forgotten about Laura? No, he didn't per se, he was fighting for the both of them to get seen. But something in her voice...the way she said his name....

The young man was turning around to address her when she screamed. Oh, god. She screamed. It rattled every bit of security he had in him. The scream, god, that scream. It tore through the sound waves and ripped through his mind as if threatening to rip his mind in half. Laura clawed at him and he just didn't seem to grab her fast enough; she was already falling to the floor, screaming in pain. She was in so much pain and he didn't know what to do about it. He crumbled to the ground and reached for her, gathering her withering form into his arms.

God, never had he seen someone in so much pain. It was unbearable. He swore he could feel it too. Mac held her in his embrace, scanning through her body. "What hurts? Where does it hurt, Laura?! Laura!" he shouted.

The receptionist by now was on the phone, calling for help. He didn't wait for help to come. He held onto Laura so tight to his body and mustered up the strength to stand. He held her as he ran. He ran. He didn't think twice about it. He ran, and he didn't look back.

Not even when the receptionist ran from behind the desk toward the double automatic doors. He booked it. Mac had know clue where to take her. But he knew, he knew; they just couldn't be there.

His feet pounded against the concrete as he focused on putting distance between them and the hospital. Going back to transit became the best option, except he didn't know when the next pickup was going to be. But it was chance he was willing to take. He slowed down as he approached the entrance to the transit station with Laura in tow. Searching, he found an empty bench where he laid her down. Mac knelt down beside her, peeling his jacket off to cover her up before brushing hair away from her forehead.

"Laura? Laura, can you hear me?" He whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. It was cool to the touch. He closed his eyes and groaned. He was so sure their nightmare was going to end at the hospital. Instead, it was just beginning, he felt. It was just the beginning.

[Laura Gould (DELETED 5747)]

Whatever discussion that Mackinnley had with the receptionist was beyond Laura’s comprehension. It was while he was talking that she had been preoccupied, violently so, with the scent of blood. With the cacophonous noise attached to any emergency ward of any hospital. And then, so consumed was she by the agony that spread over the expanse of her face, that crawled over her hands – indeed, over every section of her skin bared to the light – that she was aware of nothing. Not of Mackinnley’s rising frustration or anger, or of the receptionist’s fear. Even when she was bundled up into Mackinnley’s arms, she calmed only a little. Like an armadillo hiding from danger, she hardly unfurled from the tight ball she’d instinctually tried to roll herself up into. Her face buried into his chest, her hands tucked between their bodies. Full trust was given to the man who carried her; she did not feel the need to cling to him too much. Laura trusted that he would not drop her.

Except when he tried to put her down, she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to settle upon the hard wood of the bench. Although the agony had subsided, she could still remember it. Although the worst of it had passed, her skin still felt tight, almost sunburned. And the entire night had turned into a blur of chaos and confusion, of pain and misery. The date that they had been on seemed like it was forever ago. A dream, even, only half remembered, drifting into some stratosphere of something that once was and that could never be reclaimed.

Laura wasn’t much of an optimist, not in the long run. She wasn’t entirely a pessimist, either, but the hospital had failed. Rather than stay there, Mackinnley had taken them away – and Laura had to trust that he knew what he was doing. And she did – even she knew that deep down, it wasn’t right. If they’d stayed any longer she’d have done something horrible. Something that she would have regretted. Something… violent and animalistic.

It all became too much. The lack of a heartbeat, and the fact that by now she should have fainted due to no oxygen – she realised she hadn’t been breathing which caused her to suck in a large gulp of hair. To swallow it, before releasing… and taking another. Over and over because it was normal, it was a normal thing to do, to breathe. Her face crumpled. She didn’t know whether to scream or to sob. Her voice caught painfully in her throat…until she heard his voice.

Mackinnley, who was still right there. His voice broke through the fog; his cool lips upon her forehead had her breathing out, slowly. That small act of intimacy reminded her of the date she was slowly forgetting; of the nervousness, of that girlish teenage crush burgeoning in her chest for this smart, solid, reasonable man. A man any girl would be proud to take home to her parents. She nodded, slowly; she could hear him. Slender fingers curled around the edge of his jacket, though he was no longer wearing it. It smelled like him. She sucked in another sharp breath, and her eyes were wide.

“My skin, it was burning,” she said. She couldn’t think of any other way to explain it. “And I… I could smell blood. That man… I wanted to… to…” she stumbled. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. No, really? Was she really going to admit that out loud? That she’d wanted to lunge after a living human being and tear into his neck, just to get to the vein? Even thinking about it now, her throat throbbed. And when she tried to lick her lips, she could feel them there – sharp canines. Longer than usual. This had to be some kind of nightmare. She’d been drugged, but not with something to make her heart stop. Instead, she’d been drugged with some hardcore new-age hallucinogenic.

“Kinney…” she started. She was going to ask whether he felt the same. Whether it was all exactly the same for him, or whether whatever had happened to her was worse, somehow. Or maybe she was just reacting where he wasn’t? Which she was grateful for, in the long run. But the question never got past Laura’s lips. Her ears twitched. Somewhere, not too far away, was the sound of shoes grinding into gravel. A slow shic shich of someone approaching. And with it, that sound. The slow, agonisingly sweet sound of steady bass; a delicious rhythm. Laura tensed, and sat up. Her blonde hair was a mess around her shoulders, and her green eyes wide and enquiring.

There was someone approaching. And she was equal parts exhilarated and terrified. And was it the same for Kinney? She asked the question with her eyes. Not daring to look at the body passing them by.

[Mackinnley (DELETED 5761)]

"....Your skin was burning?" He didn't understand. Never had he heard of anyone's skin burning. Well, vampires' skin burned whenever they stepped out into the light, but that was fantasy. Vampires weren't real, he knew that for a fact. Only freaks with abnormal complexes thought blood was good to eat or drink. He believed that wholeheartedly; at least, that's what he wanted to believe. He focused on her first statement because the latter half the statement made things eerie for him. It made things unreal for him. He knew how blood smelt; it was a familiar smell to him. He smelt it all the time at work on top of the smell of salt and fish. Some times it was the fishes' blood, and other times, it was the blood of his fellow coworkers. Someone made a mistake and usually mistakes ended in blood. When the man in the hospital walked by with his bloodied hand wrapped up, he hadn't noticed. At least that was what he was telling himself. He knew what blood smelled like but never had there been a rumble in his stomach. Never had there been an ache in his mouth to dig his teeth into someone's....

He closed his eyes, hand stroking the top of her head. Something just wasn't right with them. He could only think about how he felt standing in front of that receptionist. Not only was he pissed off at her unwillingness to help them, he was intoxicated by the smell of her. Mac swore he could smell the blood that laid in her veins, hidden beneath the layers of skin and muscle. How easily he could have torn her throat a part if given the chance. If he hadn't had self control, he would have. He would have done it right then and there in the hospital. Then people would have been really looking at him like the craze monster he felt at the present time. Boy, did he feel crazy, crazier than ever.

Here he was, kneeling down beneath a beautiful woman that he'd like to take him to meet his family, and all he was thinking about was the ache in his mouth. The desire to quench the thirst in his throat and relieve it of its dryness was ever present in his mind. Not that he didn't want to take care of Laura and answer her questions. He did...for the most part. He was comfortable with taking care of her but trying to explain what was happening to them even when he didn't understand, no. So when she said his name, all the Red head could do was stare into her eyes before he averted his gaze. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, that action told a telling revelation.

Shic shich. Shic shich.

At first, the sound was low...almost too low. Almost. Had it been any other day, Mac probably wouldn't have heard the sound. Let alone be able to focus in on it. He stayed on his knees but his posture was erect. His ears just honed in on the sound and allowed his body to be entranced by it, devoured by it. It wasn't the sound of the approaching being that sounded like a melody to his ears. Not at all. It was the sound accompanied with it that put him in a familiar trance like the one he had in the hospital. Lub dub. Lub dub. It was back and this time it sounded better than the first two times he had heard it in the evening.

He rubbed at his jaw with both hands, attempting to massage the ache away. It was getting to become annoying...unbearable. He opened his mouth to stretch it, hoping and thinking it would relieve the ache. But to no avail; it was still there. Mac looked at Laura, studying her reaction to the approaching adult. Her body too was erect now, siting up on the bench. He rubbed his face a bit and groaned, shaking his head. This was becoming way too much for him. He wanted to shut down, curl up, and close his eyes. If he could do so, he would, believing that was all he needed. He needed to be able to block out the sound of the approaching being, whose blood was getting louder and louder the closer he got.

Mac opened his eyes to stare at the blonde companion of his. "This isn't normal..." he whispered, purposely planting his knee firmly to the ground as the man walked behind him. Why? Why couldn't he just lunge at the man? What was stopping him. He pushed himself off the ground with the help of the bench and turned around, following after the solo companion. How was he going to do this? He could blitz him. He could grab him by his throat and slam him down on the concrete....

He could do this all before the transit arrived.

Everything ached, even down to his finger tips. He closed his eyes as he followed behind the man for another minute or so, stopping right behind him. The man turned around and blinked, quite unsure what was happening. He drew his bag close to his body, assuming the redhead was here to rob him.

"When's the next transit coming?" questioned the redhead, gazing into his eyes intently.

"Uhh...' the man hesitated, pausing to look at his watch, "It should be here in the next thirty minutes."

Mac nodded his head, "Thank you." He took a step away. He took another step away and pivoted. But mid pivot, he paused. He paused and took a deep breath. There was no way he could walk away. He wasn't entirely sure what came over him. The ache. The thirst. Those were real things controlling him at the moment. He didn't know what came over him, but all he found was himself grabbing for the solo companion; an innocent man whose only mistake was walking into their environment; their death trap. He gripped him by his shoulders and thrust his face into the man's throat, opening his mouth only to bite down.

He had completely lost it.

[Laura Gould (DELETED 5747)]

It was mildly better, sitting still and calm under Mackinnley’s soothing administrations. His hand was cool against her forehead. There was a roughness to his skin which Laura relished; the way it sifted against her every nerve, the way the hair tingled as it was shifted near her scalp. She swallowed, and her throat complained. If it weren’t for the approaching stranger, she might have sat up to curl into Mackinnley’s chest, to cling to his shirt and bury her head in against the solidity of the man, to hide from the world that way. To block out everything but the man standing in front of her.

But she couldn’t. Because Mackinnley stood, and walked away from her. She felt the lack of his presence like the lack of a limb, but she let him go. She didn’t cling to him and plead like some poor damsel in distress. She didn’t scream and sob and squeal, because she didn’t particularly want to be a burden, even if her body had other plans; her natural panicked reaction to their joint predicament.

Instead, she watched the tall, solid redhead with obvious curiosity. What was he going to do? Did that walking body look and feel the same to him? Could he hear the heartbeat, like a steady alluring rhythm? This isn’t normal, he’d said, which lead Laura to the obvious conclusion that he did feel the same. He did feel that something was not right. So Laura watched. She waited.

The two men were some distance away. But she could hear every word as if they were right beside her. She flinched, cringed. Did Mackinnley really just want to know when the next train was coming? And what was it that she was hoping for, really? Because there was a hope there, somewhere, lingering beneath the surface. Her heart dropped as Mackinnley turned around to come back. Why did it drop?

But then. Then. Then Mackinnley turned. He lunged. The hot, heady scent of blood sped to Laura on the light breeze, and within seconds she was on her feet. Mackinnley’s jacket fell to the ground, abandoned. She all but sprinted at the pair, her instinct carrying her forward. Somewhere, at the forefront of her mind, she tried to tell herself that she was going to pull Mackinnley off. She was going to stop him from doing something that he might regret. But as she got closer, she knew that’s not what she was going to do.

No, instead, she leapt at the poor soul who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The lightness of her body clung to him; her hand grasped at Mackinnley’s shoulder for support, her leg half hooked up and over the human’s hip. She couldn’t reach the neck, otherwise; she wasn’t short, but nor was she very tall.

Sharp canines sunk into salty, sweaty skin. Straight into the vein. Hot blood pumped into her mouth. It should have disgusted her. And for a moment there was a terror, a blatant and avid fear. She gasped. Blood bubbled over her tongue and out the side of her mouth. It dribbled down over her chin, dripping onto her clothes, down over the neck of their victim. She was unaware of his struggles or of his screams. The initial horror and shock was engulfed by need and hunger. The first drops of blood that touched the back of her throat eased that ache, some; she wanted more. She needed more.

Her lips, previously painted a nice shade of pink but now dry and cracked, close around the wound. Her teeth dig in deeper, and she swallowed. She sucked, gulping the blood down in large mouthfuls. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted. A growl of a moan gurgled in her throat between swallows, like some wild animal hunched over a dead carcass. Blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulder, over their victim’s shoulder, hiding her face, and her feeding, from view. Her hand slipped up, around, clinging to Mackinnley’s neck. Reassured that he was still there; reassured that he, too, was feeding. She was not in this alone.

And with every swallowed mouthful, she felt better. With every gulp, the ache started to subside. Not completely, but a little. The headache abated. This was it. This was all she needed, to feel better. Inside, she rejoiced.

[Mackinnley (DELETED 5761)]

Summer of 2002, Liam and Mac were walking home after spending a day at the park. Liam was six at the time, Mac fourteen. Neither were accompanied by their parents; Mac had been left in charge of caring for Liam. He didn't know where their mom was, only that she had a few errands to run. Boring errands, he remembered her chiming. It was she who implanted the idea of going to the park and enjoying the sunshine. The breeze, oh the breeze, it had been perfect on that summer day. It caressed their cheeks while the sun kissed the back of their necks with its warmth and rays. It was the perfect day. He had spent majority of the time showing Liam how to catch a baseball. As they had walked back toward their home, he recalled having the gloves tucked underneath his arm pit while his hand held onto Liam's.

They often argued about who saw the dog first. Liam claimed he was the one who saw its strange mannerisms but didn't think of it. He didn't think he was truly aware of the approaching danger. Mac, however, believed he was the first one to notice that the dog was rabid. No matter who saw the dog first, he just knew they had been in danger. Pushing Liam in front of him, he shouted and demanded that the boy take off running and not to look back. In the distance, he could hear the dog viciously bark behind them. He didn't understand what set the dog off. It was a clear case of wrong place at the wrong time. They ran as fast as they could down the block. Mac recognized a neighbor's house, a woman who came over to have tea with his mom once in a while, and that's where he pushed his brother. He helped the younger of the two to climb the fence before he too would scramble up.

The dog had caught him by his pant leg and he freaked out, screaming and hollering. In a last desperate attempt to get away, he thrust his body over the fence with his full force, landing on his left arm with all his weight. He heard the crack and felt the immediate pain, but he managed to crawl away from the fence. Or for a while, he had believed that's what happened. Liam finally told him that he used all his strength to drag Mac his collar away from the fence, since the dog was barking and violently attacking at the barrier. Liam ran and banged on the door to get help while he laid on the ground. He didn't remember too much after that, perhaps it was the shock of the whole event.

He wouldn't admit the he remembered mostly how the dog looked. How his eyes weren't filled with love, but such a darkness he didn't understand at the time. He didn't understand how a once loving family dog could become a vicious instrument of violence. It didn't make sense to him at fourteen.

It made a bit more sense now at the age of twenty six.

He was the rabid dog, overtaken by the need to be full.

He didn't think he was hungry until he had lunged at the man, biting into his throat with a disregard of who the man could be. The blood burst into his mouth and he gulped it down in large amounts; the substance coated his tongue and the back of his throat. He didn't care how crazy he may have appeared or how he instinctively knew to cover the man's mouth to muffle his screams of horror. Or even why as he began to feast upon the man, a peace washed over him. It was the first time he felt such a peace, this real sort of peace the entire night. It was as if this had been all he needed the whole time. That this man's blood had been the answer to all his questions; the cure to his undiagnosed ailment.

The redhead felt Laura approaching, and for a brief moment, he considered how heinous this could appear to her. As she got closer to him, he wondered if she was going to attempt to use all her strength to pull him off the man. Instead, much to his surprise, she joined him. She attacked the man with the same desperate need as he had done. He drank and drank until he felt full, then he pulled away. It was truly a wonder how he just knew at the right time to pull away. He stumbled back and blinked. The back of his hand swiped at his mouth before he peered down at his hand, staring at the thick substance drying against his skin. Even in the darkness of the night, blood looked....beautiful.

His attentions turned back toward Laura, watching her as she fed from the man. The only thing he could think about is: how did this happen?

And why did it feel so good?

[Laura Gould (DELETED 5747)]

It wasn’t long after Mackinnley pulled back, that Laura, too, came to her senses. Well, it wasn’t that she really came to her senses, but something within her told her to stop. When she let go of their victim, the human’s body fell to the ground. Dropped, like a discarded rag doll. She hadn’t even been aware that she was holding the man up. But now she was all too aware.

The human was still alive. She could hear his heartbeat. She knew that now – the steady, bass-like rhythm that had taunted her all night. It was a heartbeat, and the one that she could hear now was slow. But it was there. It wasn’t erratic; he seemed like a strong man. Like he would survive the double loss of blood. And even as Laura stared, she watched as the wound that she had created with her teeth healed over. Although there was still a little blood tainting his skin, the evidence of her handiwork was gone.

The headache was gone, too. The aching in her jaw, the burn and scratch and desperate thirst in the back of her throat was gone, too. Ultimately, generally, she felt ten times better than she had only five minutes ago. Five minutes ago she felt as if her body were falling apart at the seams, but now? She closed her eyes. A light, cool breeze fingered through the locks of her hair, though she ignored the caresses. For now, she focused only on her body; a new warmth was spreading through it. The blood that she had consumed; it had been hot, and she could feel it now in the middle of her cold body. The way it spread. It didn’t go straight through the digestive system. Instinctively, she knew it wasn’t going to come out the other side.

Oh, she’d read Anne Rice in the past. This thing that she was feeling was like something out of that fictional universe. The way the blood spread its warmth from her gut, all the way out to the tips of her fingers. Her body absorbed the life of the human she had just fed from. His warmth and heat. And in that moment she realised exactly what she had done. It struck her, like a bullet to the chest. Her brows furrowed as her eyes fluttered open; the light from the nearby street lamp fractures in the green of her irises. Unbeknownst to her, they now looked gem-like. Far too sharp and clear.

It was all far too surreal, but at the same time the reality of it was right in front of her, the evidence passed out on the ground. She had sunk her teeth into the neck of another living human and she had swallowed his blood. She had done it with passion, and with a thirst that could not be denied. And she felt better for it. And it was all just a bit too much. Her head spun, and all of a sudden she just wanted to go home. She wanted to go home and curl up under her blankets and wish it all away. She wanted to wake up and realise it was all a nightmare. Fear mounted in her chest. Blatant, irrevocable fear. Rather than scream, she ran. She bolted. Mackinnley was right there, and she had clung to him for dear life beforehand, but this was too much. It was too much.

“I want to go home,” she said. Her words were crisp and loud in her ears, and she cringed. She crossed her arms over her chest and she began to walk. Her shoulder nudged Mackinnley’s arm as she passed him; she couldn’t think about the man on the ground or whether or not they should call for an ambulance. Her brain was shutting down and she was barely avoiding a full-blown panic attack. She had one goal in mind; she had to go home. Home. Home. She kept repeating the phrase to herself, blocking out everything else. She picked up the pace. Her steady walk had turned into a fast walk. And that fast walk soon turned into a job. Her breath hitched in her throat as that jog then turned into a sprint. She had to get home, and she had to keep running. Because if she didn’t, she would collapse into a heap in the gutter; her thoughts would become nonsensical. And so she ran; she could feel the power in her legs. The extra strength. Although she went for a run nearly every morning, it never felt like this. There’d always be a strain, a burn. But there was none, now. Like all her joints were coated in oil. Slick. Easy. She ran so that the breath collecting in her lungs could be used to steady her breathing, rather than to hurl a curdled scream into the atmosphere.

Because that was what she felt like doing. Screaming. Because this was some kind of nightmare, wasn’t it?

[Mackinnley (DELETED 5761)]

Vampire. It wasn't a term that normally popped up in his mind. Hell, Mac wasn't a regular reader of the supernatural kind. He preferred to stick with his non fictions and his occasional spy thrillers. He only knew about vampires because at one point in college he dated a girl who was obsessed with Twilight. He didn't care to read the books, but because he thought himself to be a wonderful boyfriend, he did end up attending most of the premieres with her. But for the most part, the term, the legends, and awe that surrounded the beings eluded his thoughts. Now as he stood there, realizing he had just drunk blood, blood that wasn't his own, the term came flashing in his mind. His brows furrowed, his thoughts fell into their depths. How could this be possible?

Vampires simply didn't exist. Drinking blood wasn't normal though; drinking the blood of someone else definitely wasn't normal either. It just felt right and he couldn't explain. He didn't know how to explain it or where to begin to find the answers. He was just at a lost. A lost for words. A lost for explanations. A lost for...peace of mind. Yes, the peace he had experienced previously was drifting away, the more and more he became lucid. The more he became aware, the more he felt disgusted in himself. How did this happen? And how could he let Laura participate in such a barbaric act?

Now the man laid on the ground and though the wound had healed, he could see the effects of their draining in the man's lethargic appearance. They simply couldn't leave him there, could they? What if he remembered them? It couldn't be possible. Their surroundings were dark, too dark. There was no way he could have seen the redhead's face. Right? So deep into his thoughts, he hadn't noticed his blond companion had began to walk away from the man. No, it wasn't until she brushed past him was he awoken from his thoughts. All he heard was she wanted to go home.

He realized he wasn't sure if he could go home. He had just drank for an innocent man. How safe would his brother be? How safe would his father be? Mac shook his head and looked over his shoulder to look at Laura, who continued to walk away from him. He turned to walk after her, stopping to swipe up his jacket once he neared the bench. He couldn't leave it there; it was evidence. "Laura, " he called. But she kept walking. Her walking soon sped up; so, he quickened his. His eyes widen once her realized she was running. Running from the scene of the crime. Running from the situation. And ultimately, running from him.

"Laura!" He yelled, gripping his jacket tightly within his grasp, as he took off after. "No, no no..." he repeated as he ran. No, she couldn't leave him like that. Not after all they had experience together. They fed from the same person, that to him sealed the deal. They had to be in this together. He wasn't going to survive without her, he knew that for sure. No one else could possibly understand; everyone would think he's crazy. See him unfit to take care of his brother, then where would Liam go? Where would he go?

So Mac ran desperately after the blond, not paying attention to the extra strength he felt his his thighs. Sure, he did sports in school, but it didn't mean he was still in the tip top shape. Sure, he worked out, but that didn't mean a burn wasn't suppose to happen. But he didn't care about the changes happening to his body at the moment, all he cared about was getting to her. He had to get to her. He pushed himself. He pushed himself to be faster than her. The redhead made it his goal to pass her, just enough to get in front of her. Once he did, he turned around and held his hands put to her to stop her.

"Laura, Laura...wait wait wait..." he begged, walking backward with ease, too much ease. "We gotta talk about what happened. We can't just go home and pretend this didn't happen. It doesn't work that way." He pressed his hands on her shoulders to stop her fully.

[Laura Gould (DELETED 5747)]

It wasn’t a need to get away from Mackinnley. Honestly, Laura needed Mackinnley more than anything else right now. Maybe subconsciously she assumed he would follow her; she hadn’t wanted to stop on the footpath and discuss the logistics of where to go or what to do or what the **** had happened to them. Not on the footpath, standing over a man they might very well have killed. Would he die there in the cold, missing half his blood? Had they taken half his blood? How much blood could a human lose before it was too much?

Laura was running away from the implications, though she knew that she could not really run away from any of it. What she really wanted was a familiar and safe place. She wanted somewhere to go where she could collapse and cry and freak out, but at least feel physically secure. Out here in the open, where they could stumble across any number of other strangers? Out in the open, where there were bright lights and cold wind. God, she felt so cold. The running should have warmed her up. Her cheeks should be flushed and sweat should be trickling down the back of her dress and curling between her toes, but she still felt as cold as she had when she’d woken up. When she’d been laid out on that bench on the street, covered by Mackinnley’s jacket. A little warmer on the inside, now, due to the blood – like a shot of whiskey to the veins – but her skin was still like stone.

When Mackinnley blocked her path, Laura tried to dance around him. He wouldn’t let her. Her pace was forced to slow, and then to halt, with his strong fingers curled around her shoulders. The words he spoke bludgeoned her brain like hammers. Not because they were too loud, but because they were the truth that she did not want to hear.

“Why not?!” she snapped. Her teeth gnashed. Her eyes burned. Why not? Why couldn’t they just pretend this was all just some shared nightmare? Some experiment. Some drug that had been dropped into their drinks—they were guinea pigs for some new shared-mind experience.

But no. She knew that wasn’t the case. She knew they couldn’t pretend. They couldn’t curl up in their own separate corners and wait it out, like some illness that might sweat from their pores in a spiked fever, the outcome determining whether they live or die. She knew this, and her face crumpled. Her body was coiled tight, but now it collapsed against Mackinnley’s body. Her hands fisted into his shirt, and her face buried against his chest. She could smell the salt of the water from the docks; the sea breeze, almost, as it clung to his clothes. She could smell the remnants of whatever aftershave he may have applied this evening, before leaving the house. Had he stood in front of the mirror while he sprayed it? Had he tried to dress to impress? Was it all wasted, now, because they were stuck together no matter what? Laura took a deep breath.

“Just take me home,” she said.

“Just take me home. Take me home and we can talk about it there. I need to go home,” she said. She kept the repeating the word. Home. Home home home. Home to where Saatchi is waiting. Has it only been one night? It felt like it had been a life time. Home. Her small apartment with its one small bedroom that wasn’t really a bedroom – it was more like a studio apartment, with the bed cordoned off only with a stylish, heavy curtain. The floorboards wooden, maybe once polished but now scratched and scraped by the many occupants moving in and out of it. It was a little old. There were a few fittings that could do with updating. But Laura liked it. Laura thought it had character. And anyone could fix up a space to make it feel like home, and this one was home to her. Had been for six years.

And she had to ask Mackinnley to take her. Because it seemed he wasn’t going to let her go anywhere without him. He wasn’t going to let her run off without an explanation. She lifted her eyes. She hiccupped, to keep from wailing. Her mouth was twisted and her voice was haggard as she forced it out. Her bottom lip trembled.

“Please? I just need to go home…” she repeated it again. He wasn’t her captor. Maybe he had other plans. But she didn’t want to hear them. She had one goal in mind, and it included curling up beneath the covers with the cat and not moving for a very long time. If Mackinnley was going to come with her, then so be it.

[Mackinnley (DELETED 5761)]

"Because this is real!" he countered to her outburst. Why not? It was real. Everything that happened to during this whole evening was real. The date had been real. The kidnapping had been real. The scene at the hospital. The gruesome attack at the transit station. It was all real. They had experienced every single waking moment of it. There was no turning as if it was a nightmare. This was real life now. This was his life right now. He smoothed his hands down her shoulders, sighing softly. God, he couldn't believe he just shouted at her. It didn't feel good at all. But what could they do? There was so many emotions coursing through them and between them. Mac swore he could hear everything she was thinking and he could feel everything she was feeling. Yes, he wished it wasn't real; he wished he could close his eyes and open them to only see the ceiling of his bedroom. How he wished he could be laying in bed and this would have been just a nightmare.

But that wasn't the case. It was real. This was real. He continued to smooth his hands along her shoulders, fighting the urge to stroke her face. This was neither the time nor the place. But then she crumbled into his arms and he felt himself just melt into her. He placed his left hand to the back of her head, stroking her hair and pressing his lips to the top of her dome much like a lover would. Her hair was so soft to the touch. He wondered what shampoo she used. Stupid thing to think about at the moment, but it brought a light smile to his lips. Whatever the shampoo was, it was just perfect. It made her hair just perfect. He wondered if her lips were just as soft as her hair. Perhaps even softer. It had been a fleeting thought earlier in the evening when everything was going perfect, better than planned. The redhead had wondered then too if her lips were soft.

Maybe he would get a chance to find that out for himself, but it wouldn't be tonight. Tonight they had a bigger situation to deal with. His eyes drifted close as he just held the blonde close to his body. His ears picked up on her words. Home. She wanted to go home. She wanted him to take her back to her home. Home. What a thought. He wanted to go home too. Yes, he did, but he knew he just couldn't. At least, he couldn't go home tonight. He could stop by in the morning after the both of them had enough sleep. Perhaps they would talk about the events of this evening the moment they got into her apartment. Or they would just sleep; he would just be content with sleeping on the couch for all he cared out of respect for her.

But first he had to get her home.

Mac pulled back from her, gripping her shoulders lightly once more, as he looked into her eyes.

"Don't worry. I'll take you home. And we can talk about it in the morning. We don't have to talk about it tonight. It's been a rough night anyway. I think it would just be better if we got our rest."

Yes, they would need their rest. Once their minds were well rested, then, they could start attempting to piece together the event that changed the course of their night completely.

Mac stepped back from her and draped his jacket over her shoulders to keep her warm. Then he coiled his arm around her shoulders and began to walk. This would be so much easier if he had his car. They would be at her apartment in no time. Hell, he wished he knew what the kidnapper did with his ****. Had the captor been watching them since they arrived at the Italian restaurant? Why had they been chosen in the first place? Those were answers he himself couldn't answer. But that didn't mind he didn't desire the answers any less. He just knew it was best for them to start walking.

The redhead glanced around in the night. "Do you know how to get to your house from here? I'd use GPS, but I don't have my phone," He laughed a little.