mirror

 

 

“You’re quiet, son.”

 

Connor realizes his eyes have been fastened on the congealed contents of his plate for some time.

 

“Tired, Dad. Sorry.”

 

“Tough time of year.”

 

“Hmm…”

 

Connor’s dad glances at his wife.

 

“Kid’s working too hard.”

 

“Dad, I’m fine. Really...”

 

He finds himself irritated by their concern. Shakes away something in the far reaches of his memory…something…but all he can find to take its place is that irritating face. That smirk. He stabs the food and is suddenly aware how strange that really was. Irritating…

 

“Sorry about this, Mom. “

 

Empties the cold leftovers into the trash and now even the white plate reminds him…

 

Connor hugs the breakfast bar for a moment, then shaking hands scrape collar length hair into a temporary pony-tail. Why was he feeling so unsettled, hot and anxious?  Why couldn’t he breathe? Why hadn’t that blond bastard been there this evening? He kicks the trash can and flinches when he realises he’s dented it. Fuck. He has to get out, has to get the image of those knowing eyes out of his head. He spends a while staring at the whitewash on the kitchen wall. They have simple tastes, his parents, he’ll give them that. Like everything to be clean, in its place. In their place. Not his. Connor lunges for his coat.

 

“I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”

 

“Son! It’s cold!”

 

More than a door divides them.

 

Rain. Hiding him, embracing him with wet arms, keeping him warm. He loves weather like this and rides out a surge of joy as he moves through the glistening streets. Loping strides cover the soaked pavements while eager eyes scour the shadows. Needs to kill something, anything.

 

And not for the first time Connor wonders at this compulsion, this drive to kill and clean the city of scum. He doesn’t doubt the desire nor shirk the pleasure. But, sometimes, he wonders, as he vaults a parked car, where this strength comes from. His body is sinewy but narrow. His hands don’t look any different from anyone else’s. His legs aren’t any bigger than all those guys who hang out at the track. Is he a demon like the bloodsuckers? Does this power come from something inside him? And why? Why? All he knows is he’s on his own and likes to kill, takes out a handful every night and kicks through their dust determined to keep going.

 

Since his time in the hospital, after the accident, everything felt different: he couldn’t remember things; didn’t ‘get’ his friends or the things they said and as much as he tried, he couldn’t work himself back into the group.

 

He jumps over the windshield of another vehicle, sniffing the air like a vulture waiting for something to die. Legs wide for balance, he shakes his head. He doesn’t understand it, but he always feels safe in the rain. A shower of droplets falls to his shoulders, and Connor leans his face into the rain taking the sky’s benediction like a whore.

 

He remembers that night. The first time.

 

He’d been home a while, went to some bar with Stevo, who felt like a stranger. His mom was anxious when he left.

 

“You sure you’re gonna be ok, Connor?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Phone me.”

 

He was polite, he liked that his parents cared, never found it irritating or stifling. He soaked up their love. But jeez, he’d needed to get away. He dropped Stevo off and stopped for gas on the way home.

 

At the deserted gas station, Connor grabbed some chips and gum, went for a leak and found the freak outside, waiting for him. He remembers thinking the guy looked like he’d been in a car accident or something, that his head must have really crunched the dash. Either that or a fire, chemicals maybe, must have caused those ugly scars all over his forehead. And boy, his dentist must have been on vacation a real long time. Real ugly guy who hadn’t moved out of the way as Connor tried to walk past him to his car. The ugly had licked his lips with a growl, and Connor was damned if he was going to be some truck driver’s bitch, so he’d elbowed him hard. The guy flew something like twenty feet, landed on a fence post then just ‘disappeared’ in a horrifying hiss.

 

Now? This was normal. His ‘normal’.

 

A snarl of untapped frustration builds in his chest, and Connor glances around to check that he’s alone before he can let rip with a yell that taunts and invites.

 

***

 

Stupid wanker! Doesn’t he realise this place is crawling with vamps?

 

Spike huddles in a doorway, his body contorted against the elements. Wasn’t supposed to rain in L.A. ! What the fuck was going on? Twice in one week – feels like bloody home.  He pulls his duster close and searches for his cigs. All out – shit!

 

Spike sighs when he sees Connor leap on the car and then mentally slaps himself for feeling a momentary concern that the boy will slip and hurt himself. Bloody soul! He didn’t think it would make him such a wuss. Then it catches him out again… the boy does look happy, head thrown back - too big forehead pale in the artificial light, and Spike finds his eyes sliding down Connor’s throat lingering at the straining Adam’s apple. The kid moves like a fucking cat. As Spike watches, Connor rolls his shoulders and stretches his hands palms up to catch what is now a torrent. Then the human rolls his tongue, slowly probing the corners of a wide mouth, licking at the raindrops. His hair is plastered to his head and face and the coat whips away from his chest like a bird’s wings. A beautiful sight.

 

The car alarm hauls both of them back.

 

***

 

Half a dozen vamps circle the car. Connor holds his vantage point, the orange strobe from the shrieking alarm painting his face a second at a time. 

 

He pulls a stake from his back pocket, twirls it cockily, the other hand free to beckon the first loser towards him. Connor can sense their leader somewhere in the shadows, allowing his minions do the dirty work until he can work out the opposition – sacrifice a few – there was time enough for the two of them.

 

The first vamp advances, hands in pockets, his mullet trailing down his back.

 

“City’s a dangerous place at night, kid.”

 

“Dangerous for you, scum!”

 

Connor roars as he back flips off the hood to land behind the bemused vamp, the stake through his shoulder blade before an idiot brain can catch up with events – a momentary expression of understanding freezing in mid air before he’s sludge on the road.

 

Feels good! Feels right!

 

Connor spins to meet the support band, who barrel towards him. He revels in his enhanced speed as the pair become packet soup with their friends at his feet.

 

“Come on! Someone! Anyone! Give me a fight, already!” he whispers to himself and even as he speaks, Connor wonders at the familiarity of the words. He is learning, learning to talk like them.  And there was that twitch in his head again, like he’d forgotten to do something important.

 

“You want someone. I’m here.” A tall figure emerges from the far end of the street. “You’re a warrior. A human, - but a warrior nevertheless.”

 

Connor holds his position and peers down at his enemy.

 

“Your gang isn’t the best I’ve come across. Hard to get staff these days. Everyone wants shit loads of money for not doing much.” Only Connor’s lips move as he speaks, as he watches his opponent. “Guess that’s what you get for cutting back.”

 

The vamp’s amber eyes flicker as he takes a self-assured step forward, and Connor’s knuckles tighten on the stake.

 

“Kid, I’ve eaten tonight. You wanna leave my ‘hood, feel free.”

 

“Nice place you’ve got.”

 

“’Nice’ before you came here an’ played. Leave! I’m feelin’ charitable.”

 

Connor reckons there are two other side-kicks left, the first at one o’clock, the other moving closer at six o’clock…Connor jabs his right arm back and down to demolish him even before the vamp’s arms have snaked around his ankles in an attempt to pull him to the ground. The human rises from his squatting position and dives to the ground, the stake again a baton to tease the leader with.

 

“Thing is, boss, I like it here. Lotta people like it here. Shame they can’t be out at night for a nice romantic walk in the rain in case some bloodsucking rat decides he needs a snack.”

 

“Nice people stay home on a night like this.”

 

The vamp takes another step forward. Connor glides to his right, not allowing himself to forget the last vamp whose scent indicates he is now somewhere behind him.

 

***

 

Spike takes in the spectacle.

 

Gotta admire the kid’s balls. And style – with that side-winding saunter, his head still as a cobra’s.  Spike watches Connor move towards the rear end of the car, taunting the boss with every step.

 

“So it’s you and me. You gonna stay there? Seems like you might have met your match. Never seen a human that’s not afraid of you, have you? Or one that’s going to kill you”

 

“Oh, I bin killed by a human before, kid. Ain’t keen for that to happen again. You gonna talk all night or we gonna fight?”

 

Why doesn’t he just shut the fuck up? Cocky little sod. Doesn’t do to wind Masters up like that. Sure the vamp was a half wit, but you don’t need brains to be a ruthless killer. Just the compulsion and delight in your work.  Spike wonders for the third time in five minutes whether or not he should intervene. He’s managed to hold back so far. Each time, his mind had been put to rest along with the vamps Connor had sent to Hell. Spike knew he could always jump in at the last minute and save him. He could even wait till one of the vamps started to drain him – might even teach the kid a lesson or two. Only wishes he had a smoke to pass the time. Never enjoyed a good gig much without a cig in his hand. He instinctively shoves into his pocket, just in case, cautiously avoiding the semi-hardness caused by the adrenaline coming off Angelus’ son. His jeans are sodden, fuck!

 

Spike pushes away from the doorway and moves behind Connor. Just in case, both hands clenching and unclenching deep in his duster pockets as he saunters in super slow mo just short of the pool of light ahead.

 

***

 

“You got a last request?”

 

“Cocky for a kid.” the vamp snarls as he dives but Connor’s anticipated the move and has already jumped the 15 feet upwards to the neck of the street light so he can find the momentum to swing and kick the vamp, sending him backwards across the hood of the car. Gracefully he drops, retrieving the stake from his mouth so he can…the vamp’s looking over his shoulder…what the…? Connor slams the vamp across the face with the back of his hand and spins to face his last opponent…must be losing his touch…nearly forgot this other…holy shit!

 

“Having fun?”

 

But Connor doesn’t have time to answer Spike, he’s too busy clutching at his balls and wondering how the hell he’s going to shake this son-of-a-vampire-bitch’s grip from his chest as he keels forward onto his knees.

 

Knew you were a pouf.” Connor hears the punk smirk through the sound of his own grunting.

 

“What’s.  A.   Pouf?” The human pants as he elbows the master vamp repeatedly. Connor dislodges him, buying enough time to stagger to his feet. Enough time to take in the punk’s rain-soaked jeans and gleaming duster and that goddamned, sarcastic pout until another kick from his enemy sends him face down at Spike’s feet and the stake skittering under the car out of reach.

 

“I thought he was the leader.” Connor groans as the snarling master drags him round so they’re face to face and straddles him, pinning the human’s arms across his chest. Deadly eyes loom towards Connor’s face before they divert to his throat.

 

***

 

“You know, there are special clubs. Dry, even. Where two men can go…I mean if you two want to be alone…?”

 

Shit! This was a Zippo moment if ever there was one. Spike licks his lips when he sees the shiny patch of reddened flesh where the boy’s forehead must have scraped the ground.

 

“I might even be able to get you into some of the better ones. Just…” Spike steps aside as the pair roll a little nearer. “…say ‘Spike’ sent you.”

 

Was now the time? Should he step in? This vamp was strong, been around a few years. Nah…too much fun watching the kid take a beating. He needed to learn how to respect his elders and betters.

 

***

 

The master pulls back momentarily to examine the blond vampire.

 

“I don’t know him, man.” He explains to Connor before his jaw widens. Connor hisses in anticipation as the teeth sink into…where’d he go?

 

That… fucking… smirking

 

***

 

“Didn’t look very strong to me. Bit of a let down I’d say.” Spike positions himself against the car, one leg on the bumper and arranges the leather to hide his crotch. He points at Connor with his stake before slipping it into an inside pocket. “Trouble with you, kid, is …”

 

Kid looks hurt. Leans up on one elbow, flinches. Blue eyes widen and look to Spike for answers as he tries to brush  poultice of master vampire off soaked clothing.

 

“I could’ve helped you.”  Spike says, nods his head to the side in a half shrug, “Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it. Kid your age needs support not help.”

 

“Who the fuck are you?”

 

“Name’s ‘Spike’”

 

He unwraps himself from the car and offers Connor his hand.

 

 

 

Reflections 3

 

Index

Fiction

Gallery

Links

Site feedback

Story Feedback