Alexander

He was flirting, again. With a forearm posed against the hallway wall like a James Dean poster, Ashley stood next to a blond girl with violet-colored eyes and a bright green tank top. She stared at him with their bodies less than three feet apart as they spoke. A few stray strawberry-blond curls fell in front of the bedroom eyes he was giving her as his gaze lingered from her pink lip-glossed lips back to her eyes. Slowly, he licked his lips, already starting to feel flushed.

"So, my dad's in Canada visiting relatives, and Papa's in Portland for the weekend. It'll be just me in the house until Monday. Would you like to take a break from your roommate and possibly keep me entertained?"

She blinked up at him half-blank. "Dad and Papa? You have two fathers?"

Ashley paused a moment. "I thought you knew that."

The girl shook her head. "That's . . . weird. What are they, gay?"

In a slack motion, the redhead pulled his arm from the wall. "In fact, yes they are."

"But, you like girls."

This time he let himself roll his eyes. "Yes, I like girls, and boys. I'm bi." Instead of waiting for her to reply, he rolled his eyes and walked off.

As he walked by, Aubrey swung a classroom door open, about to ask him something.

He turned to his brunette cousin as he walked by, "I'm joining your team, full-time!" And didn't even bother waiting for a reply.

One floor down and three doors from the exit, he felt it again. The quickened pulse and sudden flash of nausea returned, this time with the feeling of sharp icicles impaling his spine. Ashley stopped, slowly turned. The source of the sensations walked past him.

Despite the warm weather, he wore a long, vinyl coat of pure black, opened to reveal a loose, button-down black shirt. He donned a black fedora, with goggle-like sunglasses wrapped around it, and he strode like a panther down the hall, paying no mind to the others clearing a pathway for him. It was more than obvious what he was, and he had just read Ashley's aura. The redhead stood there for a moment, eyes locked on the foreigner. With shaking hands, he formed a triangle with his thumbs and index fingers. Right eye clenched shut, he peered through it.

For a second, his aura appeared only as a multicolored, flashing halo around his body, like northern lights in high-speed. Then, a shape began for form on his back from it, swirling colors turning into defined features. Before they could change fully, was swallowed by a group of people leaving one of the classrooms.

Ashley lowered his hands, blinking wide-eyed at the sight he had just witnessed. Jumped as a hand was set on his shoulder.

"Something wrong?" Aubrey looked to where his cousin was staring.

"He's half." Escaped the redhead before he realized he spoke.

"Who?"

"This tall, skinny guy in the black fedora. He felt like a Forsaken Child."

"Half what?"

Ashley shook his head. "I don't know."


~~~~~
"I know, I'm late." The blond started, kneeling onto the freshly-mowed grass. "I wanted to pick you up some flowers, I know you like white roses."

Tristan reached forward, pulled out the wilted flowers from the metal vase. As he set in the new roses, the death date caught on the rose-colored granite his eye again. It had been five years. Yet he could remember every detail of the car crash, down to how many times her disembodied head bounce as it flew into the back to the mack truck when her little Volvo was rammed into it. He wasn't in the car, nor near it when the accident occurred, but he saw everything. He was in fifth grade, in the middle of a math test when the vision came. For three minutes, all he could see was the truck, speeding into his mother's green car (green was her favorite color, she often joked that she married his father because of his eyes), sending it into the back of the mack truck, turning the sheets of metal it was carrying into a guillotine. Religiously, he visited her grave almost daily, until the snow got too deep in the winter to enter the small cemetery.

Gingerly, he pulled off the tiny bits of moss growing in the engraved letters of his mother's name, Kendra E. Pheloix. Brushed his long fingers over the rose under it.

Heat from the noon sun beat amplified through his black T-shirt he had changed into. As usual, he wore his hair down when visiting her grave. Imaged how she would probably tell him how much he looked like his uncle Keiran as he spoke to the stone.

"Bree's doing alright. He's still with Toby, and sleeps in his room now." Smiling, he rolled his eyes. "Having a room next to him is a pain in the ass sometimes, but I like his boyfriend. I still don't have a girlfriend, I kind of . . . haven't been interested. I mean, I'm straight, but I don't want to see anyone right now. Dad's been with Carolyn for about three years now . . . I can't believe it's been that long." He sighed, his smiled faded. "Her kid's ok. Stephanie and I get along fairly well, but I'm still sketchy about the stepmother." His eyes began to tear. "She's not you."

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he looked around the cemetery, temporarily ashamed of his tears. He forced a smile. "I did pretty well on testing this year, and I think I'm going to have some advancement this fall. I'm looking forward to it. Um, I really can't think of anything to say now. I was supposed to be at the school this morning, so Bree is going to burn off my hair if I see him." He stood, brushing grass clippings off his bottom. "I'll see you tomorrow. Love you, mom."


~~~~~
Despite what the web page said, it still stood. The surrounding trees did a good job of keeping the sagging roof from caving in on the three-story brick building. And it reeked of death. It was not really a stench, but a stagnant, humid feeling that told of lives crawling onto already decaying bodies of the suffering. This was the TB Sanctuary that even the older locals had forgotten. Moss had begun to grow on the rotting, wooden windowsills, vines crawled up the rusted, padlocked door. All of the windows on the first floor where boarded up, as were the ones where the metal fire escapes still stood. Some of the windows on the second and third floors of the moderately-sized building had cracks growing in the warped glass. Many people died in that building. Some never left.

Alexander lit up a cigarette as he stood on a half-fallen, half-dead tree. There was something inside he needed. But he would have to deal with them first.


~~~~~
Three hours later, the Russian fell to his knees outside of the now dented steel door. Stings shot up his hands as he felt thorns dig into the palms of his hands. He had forgotten how draining the dead could be. A waterfall of chestnut locks fell in front of his face as his fedora fell off. Maybe he should cut down on his smoking. The late spring air lay heavily on his back, enhancing his exhaustion. Panting, he pulled of his coat, a droplet of sweat rolling down from his forehead down a flushed cheek. Another trinket rested in his pocket. Like the first, it didn't appear to be anything extraordinary; it was a moderately cross-shaped charm of the same gold, now looped into the chain. A hole in its bottom told one thing, he needed a third piece to complete it. Nonetheless, his contact would be please with his rapid progress.

Staggering, he finally made it to his feet. A flash of memory hit him in a girl's voice. *You're going kill yourself if you keep doing this!* He smiled. She would probably say that again if she saw him now. That is, if she wasn't dead.

He smiled, feeling a small trickle of blood running down the back of his neck. *It's not like I'm going to see twenty-five.*

He staggered after finally rising to his feet again. With a thud he fell back into the steel door, wincing as he sore back made rough contact. Squinting, he raised a hand to shield out the sun. A flash of white appeared through the trees on top of a nearby hill. Alexander shook his head, looked again. It didn't appear a second time, but the hairs on his forearms began to rise. Tiny shadows flickered through the trees, to fast and erratic to be from their leaves. He jumped as he felt a spider thread of a caress on his bare right forearm. Painfully, his heartbeat gained speed, feeling as if it would crack his rib cage in half. Alexander looked up into the trees, squinted at the tiny streams of sunlight that made it way through the thick leaves. For the last three hours he felt something odd about the forest. All sounds of the surrounding city were blocked out, but every bird and insect could be heard clearly. Not a single plane had crossed over the skyline since he entered, either. It seemed that the entire outside world didn't exist here.

Alexander bent down and gathered his coat and hat. The pinpricks on the back of his neck died down, along with the racing of his heart. However, the ache in his back remained. It lingered between his shoulder bladed from a few inches below his neck down to his waist. He assume it was from the new strain he put on his underweight body.

Hat on, coat slung over his shoulder, he lit up another cigarette. As he exhaled the first drag, his cell phone rang. The Russian laughed; it seemed the piece of plastic was immortal.

He flicked the slender silver phone open, brought it up to his ear. "Allo?"

And was greeted with silence.

"*Allo?*"

More silence.

"*Look, n00b, if you're going to call me, you should at least say something.*"

A faint breathing started, then, static erupted.

Alexander hung up the cell, now impatient to leave the forest. He had much to tell his contact.


~~~~~
"How are you doing?"

Tristan looked up from his history book to see his brother starting down at him from the living room doorway. He was leaning against the doorframe, a glass of apple juice in either hand.

"I'm ok. Uncle Jessa took care of my injuries." He set down the book on the glass coffee table.

"He told me, and he's still trying to get ahold of dad." Aubrey handed Tristan a glass. "Uncle Keiran and Jamey have their cell phones off for now."

Taking the glass, the blond nodded. "I remember they mentioned they would." He took a sip. "When is Kara coming back?"

"I think in two days, if not, then probably a week at most."

Aubrey's dark green eyes narrowed for a moment. "You look pale. Have you crossed lately?"

"Other than at the church, no."

"You should go, then. It would be good for you, you haven't looked very, alive, lately." He affectionately ran his hand through Tristan's platinum curls. "You can still talk to me."

The bold sighed. "I know, but, I just feel like there's a switch in me that someone turned off. I'll get over it. Don't worry, I'm not going to slit my wrists like a whiney drama jockey." He gestured toward the book. "I have a little studying to do."

Aubrey pulled his hand away. "Alright. I'm going to be upstairs with Toby if you need anything."

"I'll make sure to knock." Tristan replied dryly." He picked up his book, then looked up to Aubrey. "Bree?"

He turned from the doorway. "Yes?"

"Thanks"