Night

All that night, he couldn't sleep. The events of dinner replayed unrelentingly across his thoughts, of how drastically everything had shifted. One moment, it was as if he was seeing a completely different person- someone with passions and interests, someone who found solace someplace he never would have expected. Despite living with her for months, he still knew nothing of her. His theory rekindled in his mind; that premonition that no matter how much he thought he was getting to know her, he would never actually know anything. Somehow, without a mask or gloves, she would always be able to hide those secrets. Those bloody, strange secrets. His mind danced around the distant scene of the blood soaking the entire floor like an ocean- the mortifying gashes that ripped down her back and vanished in an instant. Could someone in the genre of unnatural ever be completely secret-less? Or understandable?

A heavy snort chuffed passed his lips. Hypocrite, was all his mind said. He looked to his gloved hands, the leather worn and tight against his skin. Deduction seemed like too human of a word for her to use, too human of an ability for her to effortlessly read into Mr. Zahi. What was a word for her then? Psychic? A small smile tilted his mouth at the thought.

He could never be the advocate for human things, not with his past, which he told himself wasn't eating at him. Hypocrite, his mind chanted again. Just because he seemed cool and collected where she frayed apart didn't mean he was any better. The older, wiser part of his mind roused within himself. Humanity wasn't a state of being- it was a state of behaving, of feeling and empathy. The lion doesn't question the righteousness of killing another lion. Perhaps he was the one who was less human than her, he thought. Despite whatever affliction that has rooted itself in her, she was still every bit of a human as he was. She felt agony, regret, sadness- hers almost mirrored his own, but hers was of a fresher brew. His pain and anger had aged within him, like a high quality wine left in a dark cellar in Italy- distant, dark, but still there. The walls of his bedroom seemed to ever remind him of that fact; the newspaper clippings and sketches all too familiar.

At some point in the night, a thunderstorm began to brew- the distant boom and thrash of the rain swallowing everything in haphazardness sound. The wind howled against the windows violently, and the rain grew more dense with each passing moment. The storm seemed to be slowly drawing near, flashes of lighting sending knives of silver across the floor. Against the whistles of light, his cracked mirror seemed to be electrified, the broken shards carrying the silver teeth through endless paths. As the force of the storm caused the house to growl slightly, he leaned up in bed and looked outside.

The sky was spitting slivers of metal upon the earth, the heavy voice of thunder becoming a vessel for his consuming imagination. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that the storm was the clouds rolling flush against the ground. The thunder was deep utterances of night creatures, their footfalls shaking the dirt and trees in a radius of kilometers. Each hum, each creak were omens that warned something was coming, and beneath your feet you could feel the Earth shake in fear, like it too was afraid.

Lightning became the creature's dog-tongue, and rain became its lapping drool. It had a thirst, he imagined. A thirst that it searched for every night, all around the world, and for eons and eons it had never found it.

Amid the chaotic sounds of the storm, a faint knock sounded from his door, and a fainter still voice slithered under it.

"Mr. Claire? Would you mind... mind being with me during the storm?" He froze for a moment, wondering if he had imagined it or if it was some strange trick of the rain- the sounds colluding and falling in some penny-struck manner that made him think he was hearing things.

"I don't want to be alone." At that, he silently and quickly put on his usual garb, if not less well kept as he usually was. He walked towards the door and froze when he went to touch the handle, a bitter disappointment crashing against him as he tenderly retreated and grabbed the mask and gloves from his nightstand. The gloves slipped on like they were a second skin, and pulling the mask over his head felt less like a precaution and more like a hindrance.

He returned towards the door and slowly opened it to her- or, Viera now- standing there, her face flush and her hair creating a short of halo against the silver flashes of lightening.

"Of course. Here, let's go into the study." Taking the lead, he walked downstairs and into the study, closing up the fireplace and grabbing candles from a small box on top of the bookcase. Viera sat down silently, her robe wrapped tightly around her and her arms hugging herself. The only sound reminding her she was in the room was the quick hiss of the match flickering to light before it dipped onto the wicks of the candles. Once that was done, he closed the door to block out the sounds of the storm and sat down at his end of the couch.

The storm seemed to fall against the house, the walls beginning to shake at the cacophonic booms of thunder and whistling screams of the wind. He watched as she tensed with each sound, shaking slightly.

"May I sit next to you?" Her voice shook tightly, her eyes squeezed shut as rapid, small breaths slid between her teeth. With each crash of thunder and each assault of the rain she seemed to shrink into herself more and more, her body nervously twitching at each creak and sway of the house.

"Of course." Was his automatic, though cursingly repetitive reply. Before he could reprimand himself for his plain words, she crossed the vast length of the couch and sat by his side, a heavy sigh rushing from her lips.

"I can't begin to imagine what you think of me," She tried to distract herself. "From blood, to unspoken know-how, to earlier, to this. But I want you to know-" The house growled lowly, a tight-tongued word of the storm.

"I want you to know that for all my sharp edges, I'm still here. You won't ever forget me, will you?" Though he couldn't say he knew entirely what she meant, he nodded, biting back the urge to say 'of course'. She let out a sigh of relief until another loud crash came down upon the house, the outside world seeming to turn into the aggressive Atlantic. Fifteen meter waves were ploughing into the room from all sides and seeping in under the door. Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm as a sharp noise flew from her mouth, her silver eyes wide and shrill.

"I'm sorry," The words vomited from her mouth.

She withdrew her hand and jumped up, swaying on her feet and catching herself against the mantle of the fireplace. Her fingers twitched anxiously as the storm took on a rhythmic beat, the house ebbing and pouring into itself like it would swallow her whole. The sound of her shivering lungs seemed like the only sign she was there with him, the shadows swallowing her whole.

"I feel like I'm at sea- in the bottom of all those godforsaken ships." One of her hands covered her mouth as she winced tightly, as if she was about to be sea sick. Her hand wrapped into a tight fist against her lips as a weak inhale attempted to calm her down.

Another vehement wail shook the house, the inhale pushed back through her teeth as she started to shiver fiercely. He watched mutely, unsure of how to react.

"It's so cold," She whispered, her eyes closed. "The wind is..." A grimace marked her face as she wet her throat.

"Was- it was tearing through me." The candles felt like they were walking away from her, the entire room was being pulled someplace else. The sounds were crushing her bones into glass coins- she could feel the numbness in her limbs and the static in her face. It smelled so metallic; the scent of the sea and storm clashing against one another. Pressed against the edge of the cliff she could see the black shaped claws of the water reaching for her, the mist weaving itself into her skin. Being soaked in the water made the wind cut her into ribbons. At that point, being pressed into the dense mud felt like it was an embrace.

"He dragged me by my hair-" He watched as her brows raised and her voice peaked and broke off. Her hands smoothed over the back of her head like she could still feel it- like her scalp still stung.

The sensation of her face being dragged across the mud didn't mean anything until she was lifted off the ground, her eyes scanning each face- wishing that they would do it, wishing that they wouldn't just stand there with their hands in their pockets. The sight of their guns in their holsters made her face scrunch up, the downpour causing mud to flow from her hair into her face. All their mouths were emotionless lines, their eyes black beads. Green eyes- yes, those ones she almost forgot. She looked to him, but he couldn't move. If only he had a gun.

"All of them had guns, all of them except one," Her voice shattered, the sounds tortuously ripped through her throat. He leaned forward, uncertainty clouding his mind. As the rain began to drill holes through the ceiling, her hand covered her mouth as weak sobs shook her chest.

"Why didn't he have a gun? Why didn't the only one who would have saved me, not have a gun?" She finally looked up to him, her eyes red and clouded in tears. The shaking steering her shoulders deepened as another whip of the waves battered against the house, the voice of the ocean echoing ominously. Her other hand tore through her hair and dug into her scalp as her eyes slammed shut again.

"One- all it would have been was one bullet- one." Her mouth spat the words angrily.

"I lost track at twelve, it rained so hard, mud was sliding down the grass like rivers." A deep breath inflated her chest. Her eyes tiredly opened and her words bitterly flew from her tongue. Her face changed from its dense contortion of pain into a dead gaze.

"And poor Jack," She whispered, slow tears dripping from each blink. "What kind of beast was I to be so weak? I should have jumped after him, but..." The words hushed as she blinked slowly, her voice dying in the back of her throat. She swallowed roughly and rose back up, a shallow inhale drawn beneath her palm.

In that moment, he realized she was back- not shivering, not lost in the storm. Before he had the chance to get up, she walked back towards him and sat down placing her face in her hand.

After gazing at the candles, her breathing slowly softening and the tears vanishing from her cheeks. She turned her head towards him in her palm, her hair falling back revealing her entire face.

"I won't let you be like Jack." It was a strange sort of promise that, though he didn't understand why, meant more than any promise he had ever received. He didn't know what to say, or even if he should say anything, but before he could make a choice, she laid herself down on his lap like his legs were a pillow.

"What color eyes do you have?"

It was a simple question, but it felt like his brain had vanished from within his skull. So many things were rushing past one another across his brow- so many answers and things pouring into the room that he could feel it flooding up to his feet. Despite that, as he looked down at her, he realized that this was so much more real and alive than endless theories and curiosities. It was so much more real than strange words and endless mysteries.

"Blue," He answered.

"Blue..." She echoed, her eyes closing like she was trying to imagine it. When she didn't move, he awkwardly rested his free hand on her arm, the territory of comforting someone now vastly uncharted. When she made no movement but a heavy sigh, he stared into the light of the candles himself. Against the halo of light, he imagined that maybe the creatures of the storm had been scared away.

Maybe they had found what they were looking for, because as her breathing grew quiet, the room was swallowed in silence as the storm lessened, the rain gently retreating into a light patter as the thunder faded away.