The Keyes To Unlife {Jesse Fforde}

[Rhett Keyes]

“There's some overtime next week if you want it.” Rhett looks at the guy who is about fifteen years his senior. His boss. He's pretty good to Rhett. There's always overtime, and he always keeps Rhett in mind. Rhett has plans to get out of his overpriced apartment and buy a house one day. Nothing big, maybe a two bedroom place with a deck so he can drink his beers on it and watch the sun go down on the few nights he has off. Which, he'll have once he buys the house outright. Rhett calculated how much he would have to work for the next two years to manage the dream he's working his butt off for.

“Put me down for all of the open nights I'm off.” He's scheduled to work four nights, ten hour shifts, but usually he always sees at the minimum, forty-five hours a week. You can't put a timer on saving someone's life.

“That means you'll be working every night next week. Are you sure?” Teddy looks up from the schedule to look at Rhett. Rhett nods. Rhett does nothing with his nights. He doesn't date. He doesn't go to the bars and he doesn't party. Rhett is simply driven by ambition. The ambition to do better than what he was afforded in this life.

“See you in two nights.” Rhett slams his locker door shut, not bothering to lock it. It's never locked, even though it is the policy of the station to lock up your belongings. Rhett doesn't bring much with him, just his change of clothes after his shift is done and something to eat while he's here too. So he doesn't believe anyone will bother his things. Plus, buying a lock takes money. Money away from his dream.

“Night, Rhett.” The man says as he scribbles Rhett's name in on the schedule for all the open slots next week. Rhett waves the older guy off; who is his deputy chief as he leaves for the night. On his way out, he is stopped by Ben, a lead paramedic who asks if Rhett wants to join him, a couple of the guys from the squads and a few wives for a night out. Ben knows what the answer will be, but asks anyways. Rhett, as usual tells him not this time, and heads for the train station that's about two miles away. Rhett could afford to go out and afford a car, but again, his vision is so focused on owning that house and not paying the slum landlord another cent of his heard earned money that Rhett forgoes fun and novelty items. Rhett also buys cheap, inexpensive food to help save. He appreciates Ramen noodle soup. The chicken kind. The beef is a little too salty for his liking.

Rhett usually goes the same way every night. There are mostly houses on the route he takes, as to not be distracted or tempted from things in windows from stores. He could take a slightly shorter route to cut down on walking and travel time, but he doesn't.

As he walks, Rhett pulls out his cellphone and checks his bank account balance. He does this every night because when he does it, Rhett can taste how close he is to his vision. He nods when the account is the same amount as it was the night before. He doesn't expect a drop or increase until pay day, which will have a slight increase to his balance after the majority of his bills are paid.

He is bumped in to hard as Rhett moves to put his cellphone away. “Hey,” Rhett says, not sure what else to say as he catches the back of some unknown individual running in his eye sight. Rhett assumes he is some night time runner that's a prick, so shrugs it off. At first.

Until Rhett notices drops on the cement as he walks in the same direction the guy is running. A couple isn't something to worry about or think twice about, but there are a lot. Blots, everywhere. Blood. The first thing that comes to Rhett's mind, without inspecting it because as he keeps walking there are more and more blots on the cement. “Hey! I can help!” Rhett calls after the guy, not that he could do much help immediately. Rhett carries no supplies on him, but he could start to help him until he gets more help. “Hey, buddy!” Rhett picks up his pace and starts running after the guy. He isn't in the best of shape, but Rhett's not in the worst of shape either. Since he coaches a little league team of twelve year olds on the weekend, he runs a mile with them every Saturday for warm-up. He is also mandated to keep in somewhat physical shape for his profession. “I said, hey!” Rhett picks up his speed and soon he is in pursuit of the injured guy.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse likes to run, even though the last time he’d run to blow off steam he’d ended up getting all tangled up with a blood thief. That had been an interesting night, and no doubt Axel had a few questions, too. Axel had witnessed the whole thing. But, perhaps Axel is so full of respect that he asks no questions. Jesse worries about that, sometimes—Axel’s blind faith. Jesse doesn’t want people to be blindly faithful to him, because he knows he, as much as the next person, is bound to make mistakes. His decisions aren’t always the best ones, as much as he might think so at the time.

On a nice night—or even a frigidly cold one—running is a great way to just get out of one’s own head. Although the physical activity doesn’t afford a vampire the same kind of rush as it might a human, it doesn’t matter. A vampire just has to run for longer. Maybe a little faster—though not too fast. No need to garner the attention of humans now, is there? Jesse likes the feel of the wind whipping against his skin; the sound of his feet slamming against the pavement. He likes to focus on the stretch and pull of his muscles, and the all the sinews and bones have to work together. The body is a miracle.

What Jesse does not like is running with a gouged stomach. Again. That ******* Alpha Fadebeast needs to go to hell already, and never come back. Jesse’s starting to wonder whether there aren’t several Alphas, and they’re all gathered in some other realm somewhere just having a laugh; a bet to see how many gouged stomachs they can get in one night. A competition, maybe. Are they cognizant enough for that?

He’d been hanging out in the slums. Diamond teeth and used syringes are things that he needs and he may as well try get them himself rather than expecting the others to do all the work for him. He hasn’t built a family so that they become his slaves, as much as he might appreciate the help sometimes. And anyway, it gives him something to do. He should have tomed home after the beast appeared out of nowhere, its knife-like claws slicing through flesh and guts before disappearing again. Except, those same knife-like claws had torn right through that tome, and although Jesse knows the chant off by heart, it had not worked. The tome is ruined.

So he’s running. The muscles and bones and sinews aren’t working as well as they should, and his blood drenches the pavement as he runs for home. Swansdale isn’t too far away. If he runs, he’ll get there quicker. He’ll avoid...

...Except he’s clumsy with his stomach spilling out—again—over his fingertips. And he doesn’t avoid running into someone who he passes. A human who, instead of just giving up after that initial cranky outburst, starts to follow Jesse. Jesse, who probably has some other ability up his sleeve to get him home quicker, except, well, he doesn’t have the magical energy for it. He decides to try to outrun his assailant. In the end, he ends up coming to a lumbering halt, one hand balanced against his knee as he leans forward, the other hand still clasped over his profusely bleeding gut.

Help will be at home, where he can devour a few bags of blood and slip beneath a scalding hot bath. But the more those words reverberate in his head—I can help—Jesse realises that hot, living blood would be far superior, right?

So as soon as the human catches up, Jesse attempts to straighten and turns around. His body tense, he prepares to try to pull the chaser into some secluded niche in order to get at his neck. Except. Well. It’s a face that he recognises. Someone from his past. From the streets. One of the older kids that Jesse had kind of tried to emulate, but then Jesse had got out. He’d still seen Rhett a couple of times at the tattoo parlour where he’d apprenticed. But it’s been... hell, it has to have been at least four or five years since he saw Rhett last.

”Rhett. Long time no see,” Jesse says, as if this is just an ordinary meeting and his innards aren’t literally trying to hit the pavement. His voice is a physical rasp that scratches at his burning throat, causing him to cough. Specks of blood touch his lips, but he manages half a smirk, even though he must look like a living corpse. Jesse hadn’t had a voice when the last time he’d seen Rhett. A lot had changed in five years.

[Rhett Keyes]

The guy stops and Rhett slows his pace down to a jog. He closes out the bank app he had running on his phone, and presses the green button that has a picture of a phone on it. His plan is to assist as much as he can until someone with some supplies and a rig could come pick the guy up.

"Hey, I'm a-" Rhett goes to introduce himself and what he does for a living, but is cut off when the guy says his name. He looks up from his phone and narrows his eyes. He squints at the guy and then blinks as he recognizes who the guy is. But, it can't be, right? Sure, modern medicine was making leaps and bounds with the things they could do, but from what Rhett remembers pretty good is that Jesse can't talk. But he knows this is Jesse.

"Jesse?" He asks anyways, even though Rhett knows the answer. "Holy ****, man! You're bleeding every where. What did that to you? A bear?" Rhett forgets about who the person is and starts to assess Jesse as a potential patient.

He can't believe that Jesse was running as fast as he was with an injury like that. Shock. Maybe that was what it was. People managed to do miraculous things when their body was on the whole 'fight or flight' adrenaline kick. "Look, we've got to get you some help. I was just going to call contro-dispatch." Rhett looks Jesse in the face and is silenced.

When Rhett really looks the guy in the face, he realizes not only is the entire situation ******* weird, but Jesse is ******* weird. No, he's down right scary. And none of this makes any possible sense. The fact he could be standing here with a big portion of his stomach missing puts Rhett off. So much, he had to get away from Jesse. He had to get away now. Right now.

So Rhett forgets about helping Jesse. He inches back and starts to stammer. "Look, I'll-I'll go find some-errr, ahhh." Rhett doesn't finish what he has to say before he's turning around and high tailing it from Jesse.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse wishes he’d met Rhett in different circumstances.

Any other person he’d be happy to pull them into an alleyway and snap their neck. Hell, no—he’d drain them dry and then snap their neck. But Rhett? Nah. Jesse might once have thought he was a heartless person with no true friends and no family. He might once have thought that he could kill anyone without any remorse. He would be the first to admit, though, that he had changed. Micah and Velveteen were right about that. Jesse had changed in ways that they didn’t agree with. What had changed specifically, however—the one thing that Jesse has turned back the time on, the one thing that he’s trying to regain—is the give-a-**** about what other people think. He doesn’t anymore. Again. He doesn’t give a **** what Micah and Velveteen think of his changes. In many ways he feels like a better man.

Alright, so he does have a give-a-**** but only about certain people. And Rhett seems to be one of those people. Why does Jesse get that impression? Because he doesn’t want to haul Rhett into an alleyway to snap his neck. Even though Rhett looks like a fit guy and his blood would mean a really nice good dose of energy—but no. Not even that.

Jesse can’t let him go, though. Although he likes the way humans are terrified of him, it doesn’t work in his favour now. He doesn’t particularly want his old friend to be afraid of him. But at least it had stopped Rhett from calling back up. Jesse sighs and lunges after the guy. It doesn’t take much to catch up; to curl his fingers around the back of Rhett’s jacket and wrench him backwards. To attempt to shove the guy into a shadowed niche to give them a little privacy from whatever public street life might come their way.

”I’m really not that scary, man. What are you? A mouse? Get a ******* grip,” he says, voice rougher than before. It’s running out of oil. Too much blood has been lost, and it’s still oozing out between Jesse’s fingers. ”I really don’t want to ******* hurt you…”

And it was the truth. Rhett had been part and parcel of the reason why Jesse had got his **** together. If it weren’t for Rhett, Jesse would probably still be on the streets. Living in the slums. Slaughtered by the vampires in one of those gangster raids, no doubt. Still voiceless and clueless. Really, in the end, he had Rhett to thank for the entire trajectory of his life up until now. In a round-about way. Just that older kid that Jesse admired who’d said something to him once—and now he can’t even remember exactly what it was—but it had struck a chord.

And now? Now, he really, really doesn’t want to have to hurt the guy…

[Rhett Keyes]

Once Rhett is away from Jesse, he starts to feel slightly better. A little more at ease. It's at this time he pulls his cell out and starts to dial help for Jesse. Just as he starts to dial for help, he's grabbed and pulled away from the main thoroughfare of the city streets. His phone is lost somewhere to the concrete beneath his feet as it slips from his hand. "What the-" Rhett starts to say, but is cut off by Jesse's words. Or threats. That's what they are. Threats.

Threats don't go over well with Rhett. So he raises a hand to try and shove Jesse away from him. "You don't scare me, man." Rhett says, though he doesn't look Jesse in the face. Hell, he barely even looks at Jesse as he says that. The truth is, he does scare Rhett. There's something not right about Jesse. How did he catch up to Rhett so quick with a wound like that? How is the guy not dead? He must be on some high adrenaline kick. Abnormally high.

He has the mindset of 'screw Jesse and helping him,' since the guy flat out threatened him. With another quick shove, this one aimed more at the outline of Jesse's astronomically large sized wound, Rhett tries to take off running again. He figures that anyone would be hurting after a jab to the affected area. Which would give him time to get away from Jesse. Far away.

[Jesse Fforde]

It works.

It’s not so much the pain that bothers Jesse, but the slick disruption of the dead organs that are already threatening to spill out and create some garish gore instalment upon the pavement. Jesse is forced to let go of Rhett in order to clutch at the wound. The heavy footsteps of the human are heard, gaining distance. Jesse curses silently. Awkwardly, he peels away the hoodie that he had been wearing. Using teeth—canines sharp and eager—he tears the material to turn it into one long strip, which he uses to tie tightly around his middle. At least, then, the hoodie can hold in his guts rather than his own hands, now covered in his own blood.

Rhett probably thinks he’s got away, by this point. Jesse almost, almost considers just letting him get away. But that would be stupid. He’s not really making plans for the future, but simply acting on instinct, on a whim. Being spontaneous, as it were. He has at least enough juice in him to activate his celerity, focused on the retreating backside of his old friend and the direction that he had gone in. Jesse’s not much of a tracker but the guy can’t have got very far, so it’s not all that hard.

To Rhett, it will look like Jesse appears out of nowhere. One second, his path is clear. The next, it is obscured by a grimacing vampire. Jesse might be a bit of a masochist but that by no means lessens the pain. The pain is still there. It still ******* hurts, but because Jesse doesn’t mind it so much it doesn’t hinder him as much as it should.

He bears down upon Rhett, striding toward him like a man with a mission. He’d attempt to shove him into the nearby alcove—a shadowed space in the doorway of a building currently under construction.

”You said you could help and you can, man. I just need a little bit of blood. Just a little bit,” Jesse says. Maybe he’s a bit delirious. He really doesn’t intend to kill Rhett but he really ******* needs some blood. The desire is strong. The frenzy is near. He’s lost too much and Christ, Rhett looks like he’d carry a lot. Like his blood would be healthy and robust. He wants to just shove Rhett against the wall and take what he needs.

Jesse was always the act first, think later kind of guy.

[Rhett Keyes]

Rhett almost goes barreling face first into Jesse as he appears from no where. His feet try to cling to the cement, but the guy is going too fast. He does bump into Jesse, his shoulder crashing into Jesse's chest, because Rhett is a little bit taller than the guy.

Jesse talks about Rhett's offer for help. Sure, he wanted to help the guy, but now? No way. Everything about this situation tells Rhett that there is something seriously wrong with Jesse. Jesse isn't normal. Is he on drugs? Damn, if he was, how Jesse's fallen. Real far. But if he's not on drugs, then something was inhumanly wrong with Jesse. People could not move this fast. People could not shake off wounds the way Jesse is.

Rhett shoves off the guy's shoulders and says the first thing that comes to mind. "What are you?" Rhett steps back a little more and keeps on throwing questions and statements at Jesse "Cause all this? Ain't right, man." Rhett starts to point to things. "That." He points at the large wound in Jesse's stomach. "You. It ain't normal. It ain't human." Rhett's questioning starts to dwindle down as his arms come to his chest. "So, what the **** is going on, Jesse? You hyped on drugs?" Rhett looks the younger man in the face, looking to see the tall tell signs of Jesse being a user.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse continues to bear down upon Rhettt, to try to back the guy into a corner; or between a rock and a hard place. Jesse being the rock. There’s that same old Rhett with his concerned queries and that tone that isn’t condescending but more… what? Jesse can’t put his finger on it. It doesn’t matter. Rhett asks about drugs and Jesse laughs. It’s a rasping sound that struggles up out of his throat. Jesse’s laughter could use a little TLC; it’s not quite as robust as it could be, his voice never having quite returned to its full capacity.

”Drugs. No, so much better than drugs. Do you want to try?” Jesse asks. Flying on the seat of his pants, it seems like an awesome idea at the time. Jesse’s blood could be the high that Rhett had never had. The ride of his life. Jesse could not only take Rhett’s blood, but give some blood back, right? It would render the entire use of taking blood entirely moot, of course, but Jesse can deal. He can handle it. He coughs, and blood spatters his lips. Out on the streets is probably not the best place to go about siring someone, even though Jesse’s done it before. That was back when it was smooth and went down without a hitch. Now his new progeny like to be sick for a week before becoming anything worthwhile. It’s probably not a grand idea to risk Rhett getting so sick that he’s unable to even make it home.

And this time, Jesse thinks he ought to find out where Rhett lives and keep him there during the interim. Rather than at Larch Court where the ire of the family at Jesse’s hasty actions might somehow upset the atmosphere. Maybe it’s best to introduce these new progeny to the family fully formed and coherent, in which case they’ll have their own two feet to stand on in the face of…

… anyway, it’s not even their fault. And Jesse’s getting way too far ahead of himself. Rhett is a good guy and here’s Jesse playing around with him like he’s some toy. Jesse coughs again and shakes his head, serious this time.

”No drugs. Not human. You’re not supposed to know that, though. But I really need to get inside somewhere,” he says, peering up at Rhett, banking on a little compassion even though the guy must be terrified.

[Rhett Keyes]

Not drugs. Something better. The fact Jesse lumps drugs in with something else as being good has Rhett concerned for the guy. He tried to think of anything legal that Jesse could be doing, but there wasn't much there. Energy drinks. Rhett tried one or two of them before, but when he realized how bad it was on your body, he never tried them again. He was supposed to be a role model for more than half a dozen kids. Anything that went in his body was supposed to help him, not eventually come back to bite him in the butt.

Rhett doesn't answer the question. But the look of concern is long, and drawn out on his face. When Jesse says not human, Rhett shrugs the guy off with a laugh. "Get the **** out of here, Jesse." There was a shred of the Rhett Jesse would know. Back when Rhett didn't have responsibilities and ambitions.

Rhett decides Jesse is delirious. It's not hard to imagine with the significant blood loss. "I was trying to call you some help." Rhett reminds him, "Before you started losing your ****, man." Rhett moves over to Jesse and offers him a shoulder. "My flat's a few blocks away." He points. "Three, actually." He adds in before he waits for Jesse to take the offered help and bear his weight on Rhett. "Come on, man." Rhett gives Jesse a helping start with a light shove, in the direction they need to go.

[Jesse Fforde]

Yeah, there he is. That man that Jesse used to know. He wonders whether the old Rhett has broken the surface. Whether that shred of familiarity between the two man is what eventually helps Rhett to overcome the irrational fear of the vampire. Or maybe it’s the proximity; standing now directly in the enveloping circle of Jesse’s foreboding Aura, perhaps he has become immune to it. Or maybe it’s Jesse’s wish for said proximity that allows him some graces. Or maybe Rhett is just a brave *********** who recognises a friend and who wants only to make sure he lives.

Jesse shakes his head as his arm rests clingingly over Rhett’s shoulders. He’s making it out to be worse than it is, of course. Formerly, the Necromancer had been running home and he could continue to do so, if he wanted to. He could get to Rhett’s apartment with an egotistical gait, should he so wish, blood spilling out between his fingers while he holds his gut in place.

What he needs, however, is for Rhett not to call anyone. Should Rhett reach for his phone, Jesse needs to be able to reach it first, before any outgoing call can be made. It needs to just be the two of them. And Jesse figured he ought to be able to use their shared past to his advantage. Easy.

”No help, man. I can’t go to the hospital. They can’t know where I am. You know how it goes…” he rasps. Would it really be too hard for Rhett to believe Jesse had fallen off the wagon? That his life, which had kind of come together there for a while, had fallen to pieces again? It’s how it normally goes with those of their prestige, right? To the poor and lowly. The good things are just illusions. Nice looks mats that are soon ripped out from beneath their feet by some cruel and unjust overlord. And besides, it’s the truth. No hospitals. No one needs to see how quickly he heals, or that his current would should be fatal. No one needs to take his blood for testing. Least of all, he does not need them identifying him, with Rhett’s help.

”You know how to stitch, right? I just need a few stitches. That’s all. Take me home and I’ll explain everything…” he says, eyes cast downward, at least, so Rhett can’t see the scheming gleam in his ice-blue eyes.