If there's a God/ That can save me/ I'd ask that he open the skies and do it now
He wasn't even really aware of the alley as he darted through it, but he slowed when he came to the main street. The blood still on his face was wet and cold, and he didn't know what time it was and what if somebody saw---
His arm came up, uselessly, knocking his glasses slightly askew as he trampled the rest of his usual code of behavior and wiped his face on his sleeve. It came away smeared red, sticking wetly to his arm, but his face didn't feel any cleaner and he could feel the blood already beginning to dry, tacky and tight on his skin.
He backed against the side of the building for a moment - just inside the alleyway, hopefully out of sight - and tried again, but the sleeve was already wet and red and even if it had worked, the smell...
The smell.
The blood was cooling, making it steadily easier to think, but God, he could still smell it. All over him. He was suddenly sick to his stomach. He licked his lips, reflexively --- and inhaled sharply at the copper taste. It took a particular force of will to tuck his tongue back behind his teeth.
Water. He needed to find water.
Glancing quickly in both directions, he stepped out of the alleyway, walking quickly but keeping tight against the buildings - cringing away from the streetlights as if they were the dawn.
It was late enough that the scattered nearby storefronts were all dark - not so much as a misleading 'Open' sign left on by mistake. Not that he could have waltzed into a convenience store and asked for a bathroom key, he thought miserably. He felt suddenly stupid for walking in the opposite direction of his car, but at the same time - no.
They were following him --- it was Hanna, after all. Hanna was a hard person to walk away from. And they knew where he lived, and --- he couldn't talk to them, not right now. He needed time. Needed time for everything to make sense. Because there was a reason. There had to be a reason. Being a vampire didn't mean he had to stop being a person. He was in control of himself. There was a reason for this...
...But first. Water.
He wasn't sure if his heart could still pound, but it certainly felt like it was. Every moment he spent on the main thoroughfare was another moment he could run into some hapless pedestrian, some person who would call the police, maybe, who would run for help or in any case would scream ---
--- Some person who would be warm and alive and breathing, heartbeat speeding up, chasing blood through veins, arteries, capillaries, making the air smell like ---
He sped up again, so quickly that he almost missed the church.
The lights from inside were dim, flickering slightly - but they were there. Conrad crossed the street, warily, looking both ways but for people rather than cars. It felt like so much open space between one sidewalk and the other, but he was across it almost as soon as he'd decided to move, and standing at the small side door where the light was coming from. He hesitated a moment, his fingers just brushing the doorknob.
His mother had never really taken him to church, but it wasn't as though he actively didn't believe, either. And right now, he was willing to hope that at least the people you'd find in a church would be more likely to let you explain than the people you'd find in a 7-11.
He closed his eyes --- turned, pushed. Hoped.
The door swung open into the dim entryway.
Conrad stepped inside, carefully, the sound of his own footsteps loud in his ears. He stilled, easing the door closed behind himself, and listened. He didn't hear anything - and all he could smell was himself - so he crept in a little farther, through the entryway and into the main hall.
The far wall, facing the rows of empty pews, was adorned with a huge cross; Conrad had to admit that he was the tiniest bit scared to look at it, at first. But there it was, and once he'd failed to burst into flames he had a chance to see the rest of the front of the church - it was mostly bare, everything put away for the night, the empty stage presided over by a set of paired statues standing in alcoves to either side of the altar. To the left-hand side was a bank of candles set in red-tinted glasses, the source of most of the light in the room. The rest came from a small lamp set on the right-hand side, its yellow light catching on the water of ---
Water.
Tucked into the corner on the right-hand side was what looked like a small marble pool, slightly larger and deeper than a bathtub - and full almost to the brim with clear, clear water.
No longer caring if there was anyone to see, Conrad walked down the center aisle, keeping himself from running only because it seemed the tiniest bit too irreverent, and whatever his own beliefs he owed this place that much for existing, right this second. He reached the edge of the pool and dropped to his knees. It was set into the floor, save for a small lip that extended maybe six inches off the ground.
With the last of his rationality Conrad took off his glasses, setting them on the ledge. The water was so perfectly clear that for a moment it was almost too much to picture it muddied with the mess on his face and hands, but ---
He looked up to the blurry image of the cross, brow furrowing, and swallowed hard.
"I'm --- I'm just really sorry," he said, weakly - and, still a little hesitantly, reached down to cup his hands in the water.
And screamed.
For a moment, all he felt was cold. And then the hiss and the pop reached his ears and he realized that it was his skin. He jerked back, hands flailing, glasses skittering off the ledge as he tried to grab them. He clutched his scalded fingers to his chest, keening softly in the back of his throat, wanting to give up and just cry just because everything had gotten so stupid and it never stopped being stupid and dammit, it wasn't even his FAULT.
He could already feel his skin knitting back together, the burns becoming memories that stung just as hard.
And now what?
His arm came up, uselessly, knocking his glasses slightly askew as he trampled the rest of his usual code of behavior and wiped his face on his sleeve. It came away smeared red, sticking wetly to his arm, but his face didn't feel any cleaner and he could feel the blood already beginning to dry, tacky and tight on his skin.
He backed against the side of the building for a moment - just inside the alleyway, hopefully out of sight - and tried again, but the sleeve was already wet and red and even if it had worked, the smell...
The smell.
The blood was cooling, making it steadily easier to think, but God, he could still smell it. All over him. He was suddenly sick to his stomach. He licked his lips, reflexively --- and inhaled sharply at the copper taste. It took a particular force of will to tuck his tongue back behind his teeth.
Water. He needed to find water.
Glancing quickly in both directions, he stepped out of the alleyway, walking quickly but keeping tight against the buildings - cringing away from the streetlights as if they were the dawn.
It was late enough that the scattered nearby storefronts were all dark - not so much as a misleading 'Open' sign left on by mistake. Not that he could have waltzed into a convenience store and asked for a bathroom key, he thought miserably. He felt suddenly stupid for walking in the opposite direction of his car, but at the same time - no.
They were following him --- it was Hanna, after all. Hanna was a hard person to walk away from. And they knew where he lived, and --- he couldn't talk to them, not right now. He needed time. Needed time for everything to make sense. Because there was a reason. There had to be a reason. Being a vampire didn't mean he had to stop being a person. He was in control of himself. There was a reason for this...
...But first. Water.
He wasn't sure if his heart could still pound, but it certainly felt like it was. Every moment he spent on the main thoroughfare was another moment he could run into some hapless pedestrian, some person who would call the police, maybe, who would run for help or in any case would scream ---
--- Some person who would be warm and alive and breathing, heartbeat speeding up, chasing blood through veins, arteries, capillaries, making the air smell like ---
He sped up again, so quickly that he almost missed the church.
The lights from inside were dim, flickering slightly - but they were there. Conrad crossed the street, warily, looking both ways but for people rather than cars. It felt like so much open space between one sidewalk and the other, but he was across it almost as soon as he'd decided to move, and standing at the small side door where the light was coming from. He hesitated a moment, his fingers just brushing the doorknob.
His mother had never really taken him to church, but it wasn't as though he actively didn't believe, either. And right now, he was willing to hope that at least the people you'd find in a church would be more likely to let you explain than the people you'd find in a 7-11.
He closed his eyes --- turned, pushed. Hoped.
The door swung open into the dim entryway.
Conrad stepped inside, carefully, the sound of his own footsteps loud in his ears. He stilled, easing the door closed behind himself, and listened. He didn't hear anything - and all he could smell was himself - so he crept in a little farther, through the entryway and into the main hall.
The far wall, facing the rows of empty pews, was adorned with a huge cross; Conrad had to admit that he was the tiniest bit scared to look at it, at first. But there it was, and once he'd failed to burst into flames he had a chance to see the rest of the front of the church - it was mostly bare, everything put away for the night, the empty stage presided over by a set of paired statues standing in alcoves to either side of the altar. To the left-hand side was a bank of candles set in red-tinted glasses, the source of most of the light in the room. The rest came from a small lamp set on the right-hand side, its yellow light catching on the water of ---
Water.
Tucked into the corner on the right-hand side was what looked like a small marble pool, slightly larger and deeper than a bathtub - and full almost to the brim with clear, clear water.
No longer caring if there was anyone to see, Conrad walked down the center aisle, keeping himself from running only because it seemed the tiniest bit too irreverent, and whatever his own beliefs he owed this place that much for existing, right this second. He reached the edge of the pool and dropped to his knees. It was set into the floor, save for a small lip that extended maybe six inches off the ground.
With the last of his rationality Conrad took off his glasses, setting them on the ledge. The water was so perfectly clear that for a moment it was almost too much to picture it muddied with the mess on his face and hands, but ---
He looked up to the blurry image of the cross, brow furrowing, and swallowed hard.
"I'm --- I'm just really sorry," he said, weakly - and, still a little hesitantly, reached down to cup his hands in the water.
And screamed.
For a moment, all he felt was cold. And then the hiss and the pop reached his ears and he realized that it was his skin. He jerked back, hands flailing, glasses skittering off the ledge as he tried to grab them. He clutched his scalded fingers to his chest, keening softly in the back of his throat, wanting to give up and just cry just because everything had gotten so stupid and it never stopped being stupid and dammit, it wasn't even his FAULT.
He could already feel his skin knitting back together, the burns becoming memories that stung just as hard.
And now what?