No Trouble

Ruth could smell them before she could see them. Two adults, one male and one female judging by the sound of their heartbeats. One dead body..... the blood almost too cold and stale to be of any use.
Turning her walk into a jog she turned the corner, "Hey!" she shouted in her voice-of-authority "What's going on back here?"

Stanley made his cautious way down the dark alleyway, his knuckles grazing the cold brick as he steadied himself, focusing more on keeping himself upright than on what he might be walking towards. There was some scurrying a few feet ahead of him, and a loud bang on the lid of a metal garbage can that seemed to silence the screaming white horses. The hair stood up on the back of Stanley's neck, the man moved quietly, and listened like a cat. For as long as he could will his mind to focus, his senses were unmatched.

The smell of blood drifted to Stan's nose as he neared the darkest part of the alley. As the shapes and shadows around the man drifted in and out of his consciousness, the image of a woman lying dead on the ground before him started to register. "Oh, God.." Stan mumbled, covering his mouth with his hand. The man took a step backwards, intending to flee the scene just as quietly as he had come. Even if the killer wasn't still around, cops would be here soon.

The man crept low and turned his back to the corpse in the alley. He could see the hazy figures of the horses ahead. Just a few alleys over and he could probably find a place to wait out the night. That would have been a perfect plan, if Stanley hadn't turned around to find himself staring directly into the wide eyes of Violette, who peered out from behind the toppled garbage can he had heard.

"Violette!" Stan heard himself hiss. There was no movement at all on the girl's face. "We didn't see nothing, Violette. Come on. We're not supposed to be here." Violette still stared, petrified, at the dead body just feet away. Stanley wasn't one to ask questions, or to pause and think, but he was becoming anxious. The horses were restlessly pawing at the snow in his mind. He knew he didn't have much time before the adrenaline rush of sanity wore off and he started losing it again. "I'll leave ya here, damnit, I will! Let's go!" The man's voice became gruff as he laid a shaky hand on Violette's hoodie in an effort to pull her up or at least shake her out of the shock she was in.

The horses started whinnying again, galloping about in a frenzy. Attempting to communicate with Violette became useless. Stan stood up, prepared to make a run for it, but he made a mistake. He stole a glance back at the dead woman in the alley, a black shadow was all he really saw, but it set the horses off. Stan screwed up his face and clawed at his ears as the screaming from before exploded in his mind. The pavement below his feet melted away. Stan felt himself lose his balance and fall back into the garbage cans where Violette was. The dead woman had never left Stanley's sight, and he could see her breathing now, the shapes moving, the shadows creeping ever closer. A cold chill ran down Stanley's spine, followed by a wave of heat that made his whole body shake and sweat. The woman's figure was everywhere now, her head tilted forward over her chest so that Stan couldn't see her eyes. This made him imagine her eyes. Then there were eyes. Big ones staring at him from the sliver of sky that was visible, small ones dotting the bricks on the wall, green ones, blue ones, bright yellow cat ones. Stan snapped his own eyes shut. He wished he could get out of here. He wished Violette would get him out of here. Hell, he even wished he was dead, or that the cops came around soon. Right here, high out of his mind behind a garbage can next to a dead woman in an alley was exactly where Stan did not want to be.

A frightened scream pierced the tense air, "Oh God, oh God!" Violette shivered, stumbling over herself as she backed away from the body. 'what is that!?' she shook her head, 'no, there's nothing. it's nothing.' Violette's eyes were big, 'I'm still high, i'm still high.' the woman tried to reassure herself as a menacing figure smiled grotesquely at her.

"Whose'ere?" Mr. Barr's voice was crisp, clear, close. Violette looked around wildly for the man she hardly knew, but when she saw him he seemed far away, too far away. Violette stumbled over a trash can, whimpering as she cut her hand on a shard of glass. 'See, nothing. Nothing to be afraid of,' she thought as she glanced back, anxiously expecting to see someone... or something ready to kill her too.

(I literally haven't written anything since my last HAH post... so I might need some time to warm up...)

Boredom. An immortals worst enemy. For the first few decades it's the
hunger. The unquenchable thirst. But once you are able to get past that,
to control it. Boredom becomes your number one enemy.
Which was the
predicament Ruth found herself in now as she patrolled the alleyways
between the buildings, she had thought she had found herself a
new game. The idea came to her last Halloween, when she found herself a
delectable police officer who...lost the need for her uniform.
It was amazing how many humans would just trust the outfit and the badge.
The easiest ones were the criminals, the ones prowling the streets, HER streets at night. The druggies, prostitutes, they never even tried to run. Basically handed themselves over on a silver platter.
The
ones that were the most fun, they were the law abiding humans. "Is
there a problem officer?" followed by a look of sheer terror and shock.
'The game is losing it's edge, I'll have to invent another soon...' she thought to herself, right before a sharp scream pierced the air. A smile spread over her face, 'perhaps not tonight!'

Stanley let his head drift backwards until it hit the wall behind him. Needle pierced flesh as soft and sweet as if he were embroidering a little handkerchief. "Home sweet home." the man mumbled, as the dirty bricks and streetlights knit themselves into a cross-stitch pattern before his eyes. Stan's heartbeat became the only thing he could hear. He counted the beats; one, two, three, and then before he knew it he had stopped counting and his chin had fallen down to his chest.

Stan reached with heavy fingers to pull the scarf from around his mouth. The man's lips parted and he drank the cool air deep into his lungs. It was raw and fresh, energizing. The first breath of a newborn after a long, nine-month sleep.

His eyes lifted back up to the bricks ahead of him, which no longer wove in and out of a sampler. Stanley squinted his eyes, focusing on a bit of white snow that had gotten packed into the crevices of the building. There was something about it. It was fascinating. Stanley's heartbeat rose in his chest again - this time it was too fast to bother counting. As the man strained his eyes at the little specks of snow, they began to shift and change in front of him - drifting down the wall and up the sidewalk and over the filth that lined the alley. The snow had taken the shape of a white horse - several white horses, mirror images of each other, and each of their hooves pounding against the ground, keeping time with Stan's galloping heartbeat.

Stan felt his breathing quicken and his body start to shake. He was nearly there - about to nod off and follow the horses - when a sudden high-pitched scream broke his concentration. Slender white limbs twisted and crashed into each other as the movement of the herd became confused. Stan jolted upright and back to reality, steadying himself against the building. His limbs still felt heavy, but energy surged through his veins. There was only a few seconds of silence before the horses emerged again, fighting for their share of Stanley's concentration. The herd began to mimic the scream, wailing in agony one after the other, so that Stan could barely hear his own voice calling out, "Whose'ere?"

Violette threw the back door open and took a deep breath, the air cold and sharp. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. She slowed her breathing and tried to shake her headache away, as soon as Barr realized she'd ditched him he'd probably come after her, "Maybe that's what happened to the last one," she chuckled darkly as she tugged on her shirt and skirt. She reached a hand into her bra, her fingers danced around the bag, it was all she had and she needed it to last the week. Her numb fingers wrapped around the bag, she couldn't wait any longer the hit this morning wasn't enough to hold her over. She tugged and the bag snagged on a lose underwire, "Fuck," she muttered with a sigh of self-loathing disapproval as the heroin spilled down her shirt and on the ground around her feet. With a slow angry moan she shifted to grab a pack of cigarettes from her stockings. Slowly she smacked the pack against her palm as she paced outside the backdoor of the bar. The alley was dark and quiet as she plucked a cigarette from the pack and drew it to her lips, "damned wind," she muttered as a thumb flicked one of the cheap plastic lighters. After a minute the flame caught and smoke filled Violettes lungs, her eyes rolled back with pleasure.

A loud crash startled Violette, the woman jumped in surprise, her heart raced as she turned to look down the alley a moment. "Damned cats, shoo!" she shouted, her eyes darted around to be sure. Violette shuddered, the city seemed quiet and faraway, almost too quiet as she dabbed her cigarette out against a metal trash bin. This must be what it felt like for the stupid girls in movies, the girlst that yell hello into an empty forest or walk into a dark room. A hiss echoed through the alley, Violette jumped and hid behind the trash can. She could make out two dark figures, one seemed to loom over the other. "Oh my god," Violette squeezed her eyes shut as she forced herself to take slow, steady breaths, "oh god please, please don't let it be some axe weilding lunatic."

A door squealed as it was opened and shut, a man with shoulder length black hair came out of the bar and slouched against the wall of the alley ready to 'chase the dragon.' It was Barr and he hadn't noticed her yet, Violette paid a silent prayer to whatever god or gods where out there as she slipped around the trash can and backed further into the alley. Whoever was back there she didn't care anymore as sense returned (this isn't a horror movie after all), probably a couple of wasted fucks fucking. She glanced over her shoulder 'don't want to run into the lovebirds' she thought looking again at Barr to make sure he hadn't seen her. 'thank god, bastard is-' Violette slipped and landed hard, her elbow cracked on the cement and she screamed, the body of a dead hooker sprawled out before her.

As his throat burned, the bitter sounds of Stanley's guitar playing melted from the his mind. It was only the physical memory of his fingers on the frets that assured the man he was playing the right notes at all. Hidden behind dark shadows and heavy bags, Stan's bright eyes scanned the crowd before him. The warm feeling in his stomach was beginning to subside, and he must have played at least two or three songs by now. The woman with the drinks should have been back. He waited and watched, while the sound of the guitar became louder and louder in his ears, freezing up and ringing loud. The man stopped playing, if only, he thought, to grab a drink off the nearest table. H ehated listening to himself play.

As he stepped off the stage, a woman with bright red hair waved to him with her free hand. "Violette's gone home, hun." she cooed, talking over her shoulder as she served drinks.

"Violette?" Stan scrunched up his face, wondering who in the hell- "Ahhh." he nodded his head slowly. "Violette." This time the name crossed his lips, it sounded more like a hiss than a word.

"Oh, she just felt sick is all!" Came the redhead again, having to yell after she had moved to tidy up another table. The music was gone now and the crowd in the bar was getting louder.

Felt sick. Stanley hardened his jaw. Right. The woman probably ran off to shoot up some smack. His smack. The thought made the man's veins ache. When you need a fix, you need a fix, he supposed. And could he blame her? After all, she had to have overheard Murdock's crap. Stan ran a hand through his greasy hair, as his eyes darted back and forth across the floor. Violette probably thought he all kinds of fucked up. The last one. God, he was all kinds of fucked up.

Stan caught the red haired woman by her arm as she passed by him again. "Hey, can I use your phone?" he asked, suddenly out of breath and feeling very anxious to leave.

As Red started to retrieve her cell from one of the front pockets of her apron, Murdock's voice boomed loud from behind the bar. "Stan, ya piece of shit, you'll pay for yer drinks or you'll get the hell out of my bar!"

Stanley clenched his fists when he felt his hands start shaking. Something like a growl rose in the man's throat, and his words rang heavy and threatening though they were mumbled through chattering teeth. "Fuck this. Fuck this. I'm gone. I'm gone.."

The man left the bar. The winter weather lashed at his face, blinding his eyes and numbing his skin. He could barely hear anything beyond the wind whirling past his ears. All of this combined with the fevered feeling in his head and the sickness in his stomach, Stan could have forgotten he was alive at all. He knew one thing that might remind him.

He didn't take two steps before rounding the corner to the alley, taking shelter in its' dark, narrow depths. The man settled himself against the brick wall, leaning his head back to catch his breath. After a while, Stan's senses returned to him. He rolled up his jacket sleeve, preparing to heighten them.

Violette turned away from Mr. Barr, her jaw clenched as she headed for the back room. 'what the hell did Charlie mean by 'like the last one?' That whole conversation is going to kill any hopes I had for a fun night.' Her eyes darted back to Charlie and Barr, both looked warry anxious of the other. Violette slowed, turning an ear in hopes that she might catch part of their talk, 'I have to know what the hell happened, I'm so not going to become another 'like the last one,' she grit her teeth, over the drunken shouting and bad music Violette couldn't hear anything the men said to each other. She turned into the back room and grabbed a serving tray, "don't go out with strange men if you can help it and if you can't, run," her voice was low and sarcastic as she opened one of the delivery boxes and pulled out several tall bottles of beer. "Of all the guys you make a deal with it wasn't the one that looked like he'd be some sort of serial killer, but you know what he is anyway!" Flustered, the woman with the mohawk punched a box in front of her, the beer rattled as she cringed and craddled her hand.

"Vie?" The voice was distantly familiar as someone moved close to steady the serving tray and beers. Soft, curly red hair fell gently around the womans face as she leaned close to Violette, "Hun what are you doing here, it's your night off?"

"A ... friend, I brought him for drinks," her voice faultered as a dull throbbing started in her head. The rush from earlier was long gone and the bag in her bra itched to be opened, tasted once more. "I feel like crap, would you mind takin the drinks to him and letting him know I went home? Tell him I started throwing up if you have to."

The red head gave her a disapproving look, "You know you're not supposed to bring your 'friends' here Vie," she paused and popped open a bottle. "Which one is he?" she jerked her thumb toward the door and took a long drink.

Violette moved to the door way, her headache intensified by the crack of the microphone as someone else took the stage. "Him," Vie nodded to the stage.

"Oh hun, you brought a broke musician who probably plays at a corner for company? No wonder you want to ditch him." The red head playfully bumped Violette with her hip, "but you owe me later." With a wink, the woman handed Vie the opened beer, grabbed the serving tray, and walked into the crowd.

'Now's as good a time as any,' Violette thought as she worked her way to the back door.

Stanley's mouth twitched a second time that night, as the woman leaned in close and whispered. Stan didn't hear much except for "I'll grab the drinks". He was distracted, keeping an eye on Murdock, thinking about certain events that the man had almost exposed. Murdock was more clever than he looked, certainly more clever than he looked now, attempting to pour some scotch while holding a cellphone underneath the rolls of fat where a chin might have been.

Stan watched the woman leave for the drinks, and once she went into the back room, wandered towards the bar where Murdock stood. Stanley hadn't spoken to him in a little under three years, and the man had made it clear they had some catching up to do. Stan took a seat on the closest stool he could find, watching as a flicker of anger danced across his old friend's face. "Shouldn't sit down here like ya own the place when ya ain't got the cash to pay for a glass of water." he grunted.

"You were always so damn clever, weren't you?" Stan hissed back.

"It don't take a clever man to know that drinks ain't free at a bar."

Stan leaned forward across the counter, his jaw clenched tighter than his fists in his pockets. "I told you when you bought this place, you'd never make any money."

The man behind the counter screwed up his fat face into what might have been a wide smile. The horrifying expression was accompanied by a monstrous, phlegm-ridden laugh. "Funny, Stan. Real funny. An' look where that's got you. Clever pays the bills, funny don't." the man paused to pour something into a shotglass. "I can see yer' down on yer luck, though, so I'll make yer I deal." Murdock leaned across the counter, mimicking Stanley. "Band just called. They ain't showin' up for at least another hour. People get antsy. Give 'em a good show for a while and you'll get your drinks."

"I'm not a whore, Charlie." Stan spat. "If I play it's because I fuckin' want to." The man stood up from where he was seated and snatched the shotglass from where Murdock had just placed it on the table. He downed the firey liquid, and glared at his former friend with narrowed eyes.

Violette followed the man into the bar, he had seemed to know his way around the alleys and streets fairly well as they made the long walk here. It was hardly a surprise when Murdock, the bartender, greeted him like he might an old friend, if such luxuries existed. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Barr." Murdock cawed, his eyes seemed to laugh as he threw a small wash cloth over his tattooed arm, "Finally come around to admit yer were wrong?" His demeanor became quiet as Violette made her way from behind the nasty, grease haired man. "Picked up one off the street today, did yeh? Well, she's one of mine, so don't let anything happen to her, like the last one-"

'The last one?' Violette looked up at Murdock, her brows questioned the man but he gave the slightest shake of his head. He wouldn't tell her what happened, at least not with the strange Mr. Barr around. "Well well, it looks like the King does know quite a few of the paupers," Violette whispered, "why don't you go find a seat in the back, I'll grab the drinks... Mr. Barr," her voice was almost as soft and warm as a kittens purr. Her body leaned seductively toward his as she let her hands settle teasingly on his pelvis.

There was a good crowd in the bar, every detail of their wrinkled, dirty faces illuminated by bright yellow lights. They were new bulbs, shining clear, without the trace of dust you would see on old bulbs, on old people. A few of them were on edge, (the people, not the lightbulbs) turning their heads as two newcomers walked in through the doors.

The bell rang two or three times before the couple got through the door. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Two street rats, young, going out for a drink. But that wasn't it. The bell rang two or three times. When the man held the door open, the woman hesitated. Their movements were stiff and unfriendly, trying too hard. It was clear, to anyone who really observed them, that they didn't know didn't know how to move around one another, and therefore didn't know one another at all.

Despite observing this, the man behind the bar called out to them. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Barr." He was a husky man, with thinning hair and a faded tattoo along his forearm, over which he draped an old rag he had been using to wipe the counter in front of him. "Finally come around to admit yer were wrong?" he cawed. The woman behind Stanley shifted into view, and the husky man raised his brows. "Picked up one off the street today, did yeh? Well, she's one of mine, so don't let anything happen to her, like the last one-"

The man's mouth twitched slightly before he stepped forward and cut the bartender off "We're here for a drink, Murdock, no trouble." he mumbled, his voice calm but low as he exchanged a knowing glance between the old acquaintance.