Who: Emil What: A Narrative Where: 804 When: Before today Warnings: None
Emil had been spending most of his time alone.
There had been scattered visits from Esme, a baked good from a nosy man, and the occasional clandestine surveillance on Shane (and Emil has nothing positive to say about the mess Shane has gotten himself into. Shane hasn't asked for help, so Emil has kept his distance), but otherwise, 804 had been quiet.
It was the sort of dark, silent desperation that hits a person when they've come to the end of their rope. Emil's rope was frayed to begin with, yes, but it continued to bear weight through sheer will. Now, however, his will was fading and the rope was quickly losing twine.
His memories were as strong as ever, of course. His family a constant, bleeding presence over his shoulder and in his dreams. But something had changed. Something to do with coffins, well-meaning neighbors who almost ended up on the end of a hook, dream visitors with parasols, and gypsies who should know better.
He didn't know how to bring everything together. When it was just him, his memories, and Vlad, he'd been fine. Purpose had driven him, and nothing else had mattered.
Things had changed, and he wanted that purpose back again.
He'd spent the past dark days trying to find out what Vlad was, precisely. He'd had to remind himself that he was a scientist, a physicist, not some madman who did things without thinking. He hadn't convinced himself yet, but he'd at least managed to put his nose to the grindstone and research.
He started with infirmities, medical maladies, things explained by psychology.
None of them fit.
And in the back of his mind something nudged, pushed, shoved. It said less science and it whispered more occult in his ear. The words a lover's caress in his dark despair, in his solitary bed, in his broken heart.