Valentine's Day

7.

Despite the events of the last few hours, the rain still tried to drown the world. I should have expected my life to get worse or in the least not get much better. My car along with many others had been scattered like so many toys; overturned and burning. It would appear that getting home was going to take a little longer than it first suggested. At least I still had my trench coat.

Lightening cracked the sky, a lingering white streak left on the back of the retina. Rain drizzled off my coat, rivulets of water following the contours. Trudging home slowly, cars pass me by. No one cares enough to offer me a lift and shelter from the downpour.

A car screeches to a halt at my side. The beginnings of a smile creep slowly into the corners of my mouth before the cars occupant is recognised; the fainting police woman from earlier.

"Where do you exactly think you're going?" Joy of joys, she appears to be a relative of Sarah's or at least as mentally capable. "How about, my home?" I reply. It's a struggle not to be irritable. She gets out of the unmarked car and steps in front of me. Standing up to her full height, which is about 6 inches shorter than me, she glares. "I would like to know how you can still be moving, considering you don't have a pulse!" By the gods, she is cute when she rages. "Considering I don't exactly understand why either it would be difficult to do so. Also you might consider exactly how you going to prevent me from going about my business."

Looking up at me, she realises our physical differences. I would say she is doing a remarkable impression of a fish out of water if it weren't for the amount of rain. Perhaps at that precise moment, it would have been better if she hadn't kept on glaring at me. It would have certainly lessened the impact she made on me. "Just because you're bigger than me and probably stronger, doesn't mean I won't be able to stop you!" Defiance from green eyes blaze back at me from a pale face surrounded by dark hair.

The same crooked smile from earlier fixes itself to my face as I pick her and put her back in her car, struggling, swearing and cursing at me all the while. It took all my self-control not to laugh as she beat against my arms repeatedly. So much for being subtle. If eyes could throw daggers, I would have been dead twice that day.

With not inconsiderable force, the door of the car is twisted out of shape. My smile broadens as she realises it's stuck and I repeat the procedure on the passenger door. The last sight of her was somewhat comical; back braced against the seat and using her legs to force the door. A most undignified position couldn't be imagined.


8.

It is the second week since my death. No rigor mortis, just an unhealthy paleness. The police haven't given up yet, neither have the curios; the phone in my apartment rings off the hook. Your average journalist has already dismissed the story as too wild to be true. My colleagues aren't quite sure what to make of me. Truth be told, I didn't care what they thought of me before and I care even less now.

In there quest for the truth, the green-eyed police officer hounds me at work. The eye-witness accounts of a dozen people apparently aren't quite good enough for the higher-ups. Neither is the testimony of the doctors that examined me; my pulse is too weak to register by any scientific means, but I must still have one. If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, how ever improbable, must be the truth. They appeared not have heard of that particular quote from Arthur Conan Doyle.

The doorbell rings, breaking my concentration away from the PC in front of me. So much for a quiet life. Ah, it's that police officer again. No doubt visiting for a fresh round of questioning. There are only so many variations a question can take. This hasn't stopped her trying though. She is either thoroughly dedicated to her job or no one else has been unlucky enough to deserve it.

Opening the door, I blinked. Standing outside my apartment is indeed her. Every time she has worn a uniform and looked very Official. Whatever normal conscious thoughts I might have had rapidly went out of the window. Dressed in what appeared to be casual clothes stood one WPC Thorne. Dark red leather slacks hung off her narrow waist, a scoop-neck blouse and cream leather jacket around her shoulders. Something else registered, she wasn't carrying anything other than a small black purse.

Raising an eyebrow, I step back and gesture her in. "No tedious questions today?" An impish smile graces her features. Apparently not.


9.

To say her outfit was enticing would have been a gross understatement. Reclining on my couch she could have been any man's dream. Call me jaded, I simply wondered what her motives were.

"No, I'm not here to question you. At least not in an official capacity" that grin again. Breaking hearts probably came naturally to her. "Shall I get you your usual? Or perhaps something different for a change?" I might not be entirely human, but that didn't mean I couldn't be a gentleman.

"No, just tea please." With a nod, I walk into the kitchen and switch the kettle on. Busying myself with the task at hand, I think back over these interviews that she has been conducting. Though to be more accurate, a polite grilling would be more appropriate. Considering she fainted when we first met, she handled herself well.


** One week previously **

A knock at the door, louder than the film I'm watching. Work had generously decided that the thought of having a corpse behind the checkout might not be the best and given me some "personal leave". Someone apparently thought my condition would improve, I wasn't aware that death was something you recovered from.

"Can't you let the dead rest in peace?" Let it be said that whilst I might not be alive, my sense of macabre humour was. "Uhm ... Alexander Valentine? I'd like to ask you some questions." Standing before me is the young police woman from a few days ago. By now her week would have been complete; fainting in my arms and now having to interview me.

"Then you had better come in, unless you wish to continue this standing up?" A slight smile ghosts across her lips before she realises that this is supposed to be serious.

"Can you describe to me in your own words, what happened three days ago?"

I rambled on for perhaps ten minutes, her pen scratching away as she took notes.

"Why did you refuse to give them the money?" A serious question, to which I gave some serious thought before replying; "I have no idea." As with so much in life, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, even if it did leave me an undead corpse.


** Present **

The interviews continued on like this for the remainder of the week. Steam and a loud bubbling noise announced the kettle had boiled, halting my meander down memory lane.

It was during one of the many interviews she had conducted that I learned of the fates of the men who attacked me. Much to my amusement, the men that had attacked me were spending their days in a mental institute. Who said that justice, or god, doesn't have a sense of irony?

I walked back in to the lounge to an interesting sight; she was looking at the framed artwork on the wall. Every visit previously was similar to talking to a stone statue with a single moving arm. Apparently being out of uniform had let her relax somewhat. A rather obvious cliche about 'liking what she sees' came to mind at this point. Tempting though it was, I avoided saying it.

The slight clatter of the tray landing on the coffee table snapped her attention away from the reproduction print. "Biscuits as well? I wouldn't have thought that you needed to eat." That is quite true, eating is not required, although I suffer no strange effects if I do. "If you want me to explain everything I have discovered about my unique 'condition', then I will. It might take a long time though." A stern look was cast about my features. The 'oh' look was instantly etched across her face, thinking that her comment had angered me.

For a few seconds I managed to hold it in, before the laugh escaped my lips. With an obvious look of relief she settled on my couch as she had done so many times before over the past week. Passing her the cup of tea I sat down on the stuffed arm chair by the couch. "If it's not to act like the inquisition, what brings you to my door today?"


10.

A hint of a blush caresses her cheeks as she looks away for a moment. Embarrassment? Surely I'm reading too much from that one gesture. From her 'related' questions, she knows far more about me than most of my few friends. "This is clearly something personal to you. Anything you tell me will be treated in the strictest confidence." If it were possible, she looked even more embarrassed and stared into the depths of her tea.

Plucking up some hidden reserve of courage or from the caffeine in the tea, she turned to face me with a nervous expression. "I...I don't know where to begin." This was like pulling teeth and I wasn't exactly trained to be a dentist. "Start from the beginning. I won't judge you or take anything offensive you say against me personally. Knowing your first name would be a good place to begin."

Throughout all the interviews conducted, she never deigned to give me her first name. "My name is Isabelle, though I prefer Izzy." Short, brief and to the point. With the current rate of progress this was going to take quite some time. An expectant look on my part forces her to continue. "This is difficult for me to say ... but ... I think I ..." She says the last few words too quietly for me to hear. "You what?" I ask gently. "I've fallen in love with you!" no timidness this time, a simple blurted declaration with an accompanying deep red blush and turn of the head.

A critical decision. Do I tell her how I feel or brush it off? From what little I managed to learn from her, she has a strong intelligence behind those hard green eyes and soft figure. Was it because I was lonely or frustrated? No, that would have been shallow and unlike me. She is agreeably attractive, but she is also intelligent and well-educated. One step at a time.

"Izzy..." I manage to get her name out before she interrupts. "You hate me, don't you? Not interested in me in the same way. Fine, I understand, I'll leave." Before she can do anything I grab hold of her arms gently and look her straight in the eye. "I do like you Izzy. However, you realise that I'm not normal and I never will be?" A single, jerky nod of the head. Leaning down I place a gentle kiss on her lips; more of a caress than a kiss.

Pulling her down onto the couch next to me, I kiss her a little more forcefully this time, my hands cradling her head. The shyness disappeared from her quickly as she relaxed in my embrace, slim arms wrapping around my torso.

With some reluctance I break the kiss, I need to be sure. "This is what you really want?" Not trusting her voice, a single nod is her response. A heavy weight lifted, I kiss her again, hands stroking her upper arms softly. Soft kisses rain on the sensitive skin of her neck as I move down slowly. Gentle moans and a pair of hands on my head make an eloquent comment on my progress. Trailing my hands to the sides of her coat, I pull them back off her shoulders exposing more of her smooth, pale skin.

Hearing her breath catch in her throat I look up at her. "If you want me to stop just say so, ok? I will understand." With that impish smile, she takes hold of my hand and places it on her breast. What happened to the shy, fainting police woman?

So soft and warm, I cupped it gently, watching her reaction. Kissing the hollow of her neck, I use both hands to undo her top. Sitting up she takes off her coat and throws her blouse on top of it. A black, lacy bra struggles to hold her breasts, nipples erect. My efforts aren't entirely unappreciated then. Leaning back once more and firm grasp on the back of my head, she pulls me down.

A flick of the wrist exposes her breasts to the warm air of the room and squeal of delight. With a slow, deliberate pace, I kiss her neck and move down the valley of her shapely breasts. One hand gently toys with her nipple as my mouth sucks gently on the other. She moans loudly, eyes tightly closed. Biting lightly, I switch sides. Her eyes snap open for a brief instant at the sudden loss of contact before closing again as I continue.

Shifting position I lean up and kiss her, using both hands to pinch and roll her nipples. A garbled cry of pleasure vibrates my lips, as the effects of my hands make themselves known.