Haunted Roads

Who: Chris and Hesper (with a brief appearance by Chris' nemesis, Vernon Johnson)
Where: beginning outside UW Medical Center, then a nearby diner
When: early morning, just after dawn
What: breakfast

It was peculiar enough to be standing outside the hospital after work instead of heading home to sleep after a long night spent restocking supplies and filing and attempting to avoid people. It was also very unusual why he was standing out there. He was waiting for Hesper Alekos, who'd pushed a note beneath his door the day before telling him she was taking him to breakfast today in thanks for the sketch he'd left for her, and that she'd pick him up outside the hospital. There'd been no option for declining, and at this point he probably wouldn't have, anyway. After the rocky start to their last encounter where she'd found him up in the enclosed gardens, she'd seemed to go out of her way to be nice to him, charming even. That had possibly been one of the reasons he'd matted that sketch and left it for her, since it had seemed to bother her so much that he'd drawn it. One of the reasons. Any others, he wouldn't let himself examine. It was too confusing to him.

Chris wasn't even nervous about seeing her again right now because he was too busy being annoyed. The drawback to having to wait out here was the fact that Vernon Johnson, who seemed to have nothing better to do during his shifts at work than to hunt down Chris and taunt him, had spotted him through the glass doors outside which he stood in the brisk morning air. Chris had changed out of the scrubs he'd worn to work in, something he usually didn't do, since normally he was just going home and who cared what he had on? Despite the fact that he and Hesper would undoubtedly go to the Diner several blocks away, which, though it had excellent breakfasts, was nothing fancy, he'd felt compelled to put something else on, anyway. He was dressed in black jeans and a fisherman's sweater in a deep blue with a white t-shirt beneath it that just barely peeked out from beneath the sweater's crew neck. The color intensified the shade of his eyes, and maybe he'd noticed the effect when he'd looked in the mirror, although that sort of thing wasn't anything Chris generally considered.

He'd been standing still, minding his own business as he usually did, when Vernon burst out of the doors like a demented jack-in-the-box to stand beside him. The burly black man was still dressed in his work scrubs, bulging out of them actually, and he'd tossed a nearly threadbare coat on over them against the chill. "Yo," he said, his big white teeth showing as he smiled joyously. "Whatchoo doin' out here, Morgan? Ain't it time for mice to get back in their holes?" He poked Chris on the arm, having already figured out long ago how much Chris hated to be touched.

Anger flared instantly, and Chris turned his head to glare at the guy, deliberately stepping a foot to one side. He wished for Hesper's claws; though he hadn't seen them anywhere but in his mind's eye, he knew they were there. He was reaching the point with Vernon where he'd love to fight back, but there wasn't a lot he could do. The other man was bigger than him and brasher, loud and obnoxious. He'd likely been the sort of little kid who'd pulled the wings off of butterflies. He seemed to have no human kindness or sense of appropriateness. Chris said nothing, but his jaw tightened as he hoped the other man would give up and go away.

"You lookin' fiiiiiine, baby," Vernon said. "Got a date? Or you takin' up pros-ti-tu-tion?" Every syllable of the last word was spoken as if it had been a separate word, with a definite mocking flavor. He closed the space between them and started to rub Chris' arm, as if assessing the quality of the wool on his sweater. Chris' cheeks were blazing red, though he was more angry than embarrassed at the moment, as little as he liked another man touching him like that here in public. He wouldn't have liked it anywhere, but here was worse, outside his workplace. His dark brows drawn down in a glower, he yanked his arm out of Vernon's grasp and then elbowed the man as hard as he could, as little as he liked to stoop to his level. He just couldn't tolerate it anymore.

Who: Ardin and Chris
When: Afternoon
Where: Old Town Towers, Lobby

The one nice thing about being an "independent contractor" was that you could take a day off whenever you wanted. That's what Ardin did yesterday. She used to live on an acreage not too long ago, and the friend she had lived with wasn't having any of the crap Ardin left behind, so it was boxed up and Ardin was told that she better come pick it up or it's going to be sold. For the life of her, Ardin couldn't remember what was in those boxes, it didn't seem like she had forgotten anything. But her ears perked up as soon as he said 'it could be sold'. If anyone was selling her stuff for cash, it would be her. People profiting off of her wasn't how things worked, Ardin liked it a whole lot better when it was the other way around. So, she was stingy with money! Who wouldn't be? It's not like income was guaranteed when you're taking it from other people.

( On Friday she left early in the morning )

Who: Chris and Hesper
When: the wee hours, just before dawn
Where: the enclosed gardens, 13th floor

After getting in from work, Chris had found that he was unable to even consider going to bed yet. It had been a particularly tough night for him, involving a lot of necessary conversations with co-workers, questions to be asked and answers received. Most of the time he could hide out in the file room or lurk behind his supply cart (or even in one of the supply closets) and not have to talk with too many people. At least Vernon Johnson, his nemesis, was on vacation this week, but everything else had gone wrong for him tonight.

He was a nervous wreck and still cold from being outside, where the temperature was close to freezing currently. After changing into a thick grey sweatsuit and grabbing his sketchbook and a charcoal pencil, Chris left his apartment on the seventh floor and took the elevator upstairs to thirteen. He'd had an unpleasant experience in the pool area, but thus far the gardens had been a good place for him. Lush and earthy-smelling and, to him, reminiscent of his growing-up years in Cypremort. Being outside in nature had been a constant in his life, and he missed that. It had felt safe somehow.

Chris settled down in his favorite spot in a back corner, out of the line of sight of the entrance and beneath one of the windows that didn't open. He thought that maybe they were treated with something, because when he was here in the daytime, he'd noticed that they didn't seem to let in as much light as they should. He didn't know that for sure, though. He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up over his head so that nothing showed but his pale face and dark-blue eyes, taking a deep breath and gazing into the nearest mini-forest of greenery until it all blurred together.

He needed to relax. The last time he'd visited his aunt, she'd asked him if he was sick, telling him he looked as if he'd lost weight. He probably had, though he wasn't the sort who weighed himself. He gauged things like that by the way his pants fit, and actually he had needed to tighten his belt a notch to keep his work pants from falling down in recent days. Chris wasn't sleeping well, and he found himself constantly looking over his shoulder. He was typically nervous as a rule, but he seemed to be more so lately.

Finally he turned his attention to the sketchpad, flipping it open and hastily skipping over the pages that were filled with lavish drawings of creatures with membranous wings, of fire and smoke spiraling toward a cavelike rock ceiling, of desolate leafless trees stretching anguished limbs toward a black sky. Tormented flashes of the pictures that had been invading his brain since he'd been forced to touch the blonde woman he'd run into on the street that night several weeks ago. He was determined to draw something pleasant, something that would soothe him and lull him toward sleep.

Chris was warming up now in the thick sweatsuit he wore, and he bent his head over the sketchbook that he'd propped up on his knees, one corner of his lip held gently in his teeth as he began an elaborately detailed sketch of the dimly-lit vines that clung fiercely to a wooden trellis. The contrasts made it look like a secret garden all its own, sheltered and shadowed and safe.

Who: Chris and Serena
Where: UW Medical Center
When: night

Chris had been stocking the supply closet at the far end of the west hall on the third floor before he became distracted by the storm raging outside. Admittedly, it had never taken a great deal to distract him, and it was even worse now after his encounter with the woman called Hesper. He was more nervous than usual these days, and while at work he took even more pains to hide from the co-worker who took special delight in tormenting him. Vernon Johnson was his own personal Hell, but even he paled next to the specter of the determined blonde woman who'd bullied her way into his apartment that night a couple of weeks ago.

He still was not entirely sure how he felt about what had happened, beyond frightened and nervous and besieged by presentiments of doom.

While arranging medical supplies and fresh towels and gauze on the shelves in their appointed places, his cart next to him and his presence hidden by the open door, he'd heard the boom of thunder, and that had drawn him out to the window that was located next to the closet. It had been storming for hours now, and the rain was torrential, and its effect on Chris was almost hypnotic. He was a good worker, and he always did his job, but somehow the rain drowned out this imperative in his mind. He stood with his back to the hallway, staring out at the driving sheets of water blown past the muted glow of the halogen lights in the parking lot. Everything was darker, more mysterious, and the sound of the downpour made him feel insulated from the entire world.

He thought about drawing the pattern the rain made on the window, and it was mildly frustrating that he'd just gotten to work; he had hours and hours to be here yet. By the time he left and got back to his apartment, the moment would be gone, as would the darkness. It would not be the same. He needed something to clear his mind, something to sketch besides the swirl of dark images that had somehow invaded his mind since he'd met Hesper. He drew water dripping from rocks, fire, smoke swirling around a figure with black, shiny-looking wings and claws. The drawings filled his sketchpad like fever dreams. Chris hated them, but he could not seem to force himself to stop sketching them.

It was like he imagined being haunted might be.

Forked lightning split the sky, and he shivered a little, his fingers pressed to the cold glass. Yards away at the nurses' station, someone laughed, but he did not hear it. His reflection was a shadow with non-discernible features, seeming to him almost to be someone else entirely. Just another ghost, wishing to be lost in the storm. Wishing never to be found.

Who: Hesper and Chris
Where: Nino Stella's residence and probably leading back to the Towers
When: Monday Night
Rating: tba

Her little vacation seemed to be over at the moment. Sure having nothing to do but drink and play cards was good fun for a week or so but Hesper was feeling more than ready to take on another job. The last one had hardly been satisfying at all. As luck would have it Nino had called her up earlier in the day. Hesper liked the gangster boss and he payed better than most. Plus who could deny making a deal over dinner so well prepared? Certainly not her, considering she always got challenging jobs from her old friend.

Still, meeting Nino meant that she had to have looked nice. So she did dress up a bit. It was not that she minded too much, but really these clothes were not what she would normally be wearing. The deal had been worked out and she would have a nice assignment right outside of town to get done next week. He had offered to have her taken home after their meeting, but while Hesper loved to be spoiled she felt the urge to stop in at a few places before heading back home just yet. Sure it was pretty late for most people to be out, but there were always some nice places lit up in neon that welcomed her face eagerly.

She was heading out of the building when she heard a commotion among the guards. The only time Nino's men seemed to get in a funk was when there was a trespasser. More often then not that was just a joy to watch, especially if they put up a fight. Ignoring her escort she headed out of the building to the corner of the property where it looked like three of Nino's men had cornered a fairly young looking man. He was certainly an attractive young looking man. More than anything he looked like a frightened little mouse that had gotten caught by the cat. She was not sure why but she felt the urge to have this boy indebted to her. One never knew when it would come in handy.

Continuing to ignore her escorts pleads that 'Miss Alekos please not bother herself with this matter', Hesper walked up behind the men and tapped her foot impatiently. "Boys, boys." she said calmly, but with a hint of annoyance. "You wouldn't be messing with my friend here, now would you?" Tutting as they stopped and looked at her she walked past them and over to the boy. "Nino would not be happy with you at all if you were interfering with my method of exit, yeah? So why don't you get your asses back to your posts then?"

Narrowing her eyes at their apologies she watched them walk off before she looked back over at the kid. "You coming then?" she said impatiently before she just started to walk again. But really she was in an even better mood now. She knew he was going to follow, he really did not have a choice in this place.

It was Valentine's Day, and Chris was scheduled off. Ironic, really, since he had no plans and no prospects for this traditionally romantic evening. If he'd been on speaking terms with his co-workers beyond nodding and attempting to smile when they crossed paths in the corridors, he could have offered to take someone else's shift so at least they could have a good evening. But he had not, and ten p.m. found him not clocking in at work but wandering up to the thirteenth floor.

He'd been on this level before, mostly to the gardens. He had even encountered a person or two up here, but tonight, as he quietly entered through the door that led to the swimming pool, there was nothing but echoing, dimly lit silence. Chris padded across the tiled floor, glancing around as if unsure what he might find. Lounge chairs, crafted to withstand both water and humidity, were arranged near the edge of the pool. The smooth surface looked brilliant blue in the low lighting.

He would have been surprised to find anyone else up here tonight. It was a night for love in just about everyone in the world's expectations, and he figured the Towers' residents were all either having romantic dinners and carnal desserts or else brooding over their solitary states. It seemed to be one or the other on this, the most commercialized holiday after Christmas.

Chris remembered the previous Valentine's Day distinctly even though he'd technically been alone then, as well. He had not quite worked up the gumption to ask the beautiful seventeen-year-old Violette Robichaux to dinner, and he'd spent the evening slipping away from his dishwashing duties to lurk in the back of the restaurant and watch her sing. He had been certain that he was not imagining the wistful gazes she cast him from the stage as she sang the most melodic Cajun love songs. He had not understood all of the French lyrics, but he'd savored the way her soft voice had caressed each syllable before lovingly releasing it from her throat.

Two weeks later, he'd mustered the nerve to actually talk to her, and their relationship, chaste and sweet until the bitter end, had started from there.

( my bloody valentine )

Who: Chris and Roxy
Where: Crimson Needle Tattoos
When: early evening

It had taken Chris a while to summon up the nerve to actually walk into the tattoo parlor. It was nothing like the little shop in Cypremort where he'd gotten his first and only tattoo done; that shop had been an afterthought tacked onto the end of an anonymous strip mall, and the only service offered there had been ink. No piercings, no modifications, no bizarre jewelry, no bright colors, no loud music. He'd been reasonably comfortable there, and he had tolerated the small tattoo on the inside of his wrist fairly well. It had been an impulse, something he'd done just after Amity had left for the University of Washington.

He wasn't positive why he'd decided to visit the Crimson Needle, beyond the fact that he was killing time before he had to make his way to work for his 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift. There were plenty of bars around this neighborhood, but as a general rule, Chris disliked bars. He'd very rarely ever drank, and they were usually noisy and filled with boisterous people with lowered inhibitions. Not good when you didn't like for random strangers to touch you. He found it to be simpler to buy a six-pack of beer at the grocery and take it home on those occasions when he wanted something alcoholic. At any rate, he'd eaten dinner and now he was at loose ends. He didn't have enough time to go back to Old Town Towers, he didn't have his sketchpad with him and he couldn't see just sitting down and doing nothing until he was due at the hospital.

So here he was, pale and skittish with both hands tucked into the pockets of his cargo pants, hanging around the edges of the shop, cautiously looking at some of the tattoo art that hung on one wall. This place made him feel awkward with its red and black decor, the pulsing music from the sound system and the bright lights. He felt like an alien in here, particularly as his attention was caught by a tall man with an inordinate number of metal piercings in his face and ears. Chris frowned as he tried to figure out why the guy's earlobes looked so strange, and he finally realized that there were big holes in them, holes big enough to pass a candy cane through. He blinked and his cheeks colored as his scrutiny was noticed, and he quickly turned his head away. What would happen if that man ever had to go through the metal detector at the airport? he wondered.

If he ever did get another tattoo, he'd sketch it out himself, but looking at the pictures that had already been sketched gave him something to do besides just stand around and look out of place. He guessed he could wander over to the display case of body jewelry... Maybe he'd do that in a minute. Chris turned his head to one side, glancing out from beneath his lashes to see if anyone seemed to be watching him. Nothing, and he repeated the motion to look to the other side. The scary man with the holes in his lobes was on the other side of the shop, and the other three customers didn't seem to be paying him any attention.

One hand emerged from his pocket to push dark hair out of his eyes, and once he'd done that, Chris began walking along the wall toward one of the display cases, the hand finding its way back into his pocket as he went. It was a mannerism that he did not even think about, something that had become a habit years ago. The fewer things he touched, the better. It didn't occur to him that he looked as if he could possibly be hiding something in those pockets when he did that. He'd grown up in a small town, and the thought of random violence wasn't one that troubled him that much.

He stopped at the far end of the display case, his head canted to one side as he tried to figure out exactly what he was looking at. Earrings, nose rings, belly button rings? He had no idea, and he blinked down at the jewelry, one corner of his lower lip held thoughtfully between his teeth.

The basement file archive was illuminated by stark flourescent lights, and there were no windows. It would be impossible for anyone to realize that it was nearly four in the morning. Row upon row of metal shelves sagging with the weight of patient files filled the entire long room, and the only sound to be heard was the faint hum of the central heat. In the far back corner of the room was an old-fashioned wooden desk with a swivel chair which was typically used by the file/supply clerk on shift. The surface of the desk was piled with tabbed folders, some thin and some thicker, bursting with tabs and post-it notes and different colors of ink. The pile was smaller than it had been earlier, when Chris had started the portion of his work shift that he devoted to the filing.

It was simple, repetitive work, and as he put files in alphabetical order in preparation for taking them to the appropriate shelves, his mind was elsewhere. He'd been living in Seattle for six months now, and he still did not quite feel as if he fit. That was nothing new to him, since often, he hadn't been able to find his niche when he'd been back home, either. Maybe there wasn't one for him, and damned if that wasn't a depressing thought. He liked his new apartment, liked the building, liked the neighborhood. Maybe it was just that he wasn't used to being entirely on his own. He kept grasping for reasons, for excuses, because he wanted desperately to belong somewhere. There was no hope for it, he thought, but to keep trying.

Suddenly, Chris' quiet reverie was interrupted by the slap-slap of footsteps outside in the corridor. He froze in place, having a pretty good idea what that probably meant. Dammit. Was it too much to hope for one entire shift of peace and solitude? Most of his co-workers weren't that bad; at least they had some sense of propriety, some conception of personal space. But the specter who haunted Chris' nights was a brash, loud and ceaselessly annoying male CNT who had a hate-on for him for some reason. Many people found Chris to be standoffish and aloof, and apparently his reticence had caused Vernon Johnson to hate him on sight. He'd also somehow realized how much Chris disliked being touched, and he always tried to rile him up by invading his space or clapping him on the shoulder, always with that maddening smirk on his dark-featured face.

( in the still of the night )