Part Five Like a lot of things, it was better the second day. Justin didn't clutch at Brian's hand until he winced in pain like on the first excursion down Liberty Avenue, and his eyes didn't rove the crowd, half expecting Chris Hobbs to appear like a spectre in the steady flow of pedestrians. The rest, Brian had explained, was simply practice and exposure until the unfamiliarity wore off. Justin wondered if he'd ever get used to his new perception of the world, let alone learn to ignore it and squelch the compulsions his magnified senses called forth. But he realized it really was easier after a while, at least while he could still count on Brian's reassuring touch in the small of his back now and then while they walked down Liberty Avenue. "Doing good," Brian remarked. "You think so?" Justin asked doubtfully. "I know so." Brian tipped his sunglasses, peering over the rim at one of the shop displays. He gave Justin's sleeve a short tug and walked over to the rack of CDs, absently examining several of the covers. Justin waited, discomfort making him cross his arms in front of himself as if that would provide a barrier between him and the world, squinting at the scene around them in the harsh sunlight. He wished Brian would hurry things along. "Weren't you looking for this one?" Brian asked. He held one of the CDs toward Justin, along with a folded bill that had seemed to appear out of nowhere and was now pinched between Brian's thumb and the plastic of the cover. "Umm - no, I wasn't." "Well I was. Take it inside and pay for it, I'll wait." "But..." "Is there a problem?" Justin, hesitated, gulped and took the proffered object reluctantly. "No. I guess not." When he came back out, Brian was gone. Motherfucker, he thought in a rush of alarm, eyes darting and feeling a sudden dampness under his arms. He had to be here somewhere - get a grip, he told himself, and an instinct made his nostrils flare in an attempt to isolate a familiar scent from a thousand others. He was there. Justin took a deep breath, half relieved and half apprehensive, when he spotted Brian halfway down the Avenue, grinning and waving briefly but making no move to come toward him. Now or never, Justin thought; go on, don't be such a stupid pussy. He drew in another breath and half held it, hunching his shoulders slightly as if to ward off a blow. The light seemed to reflect off the pavement, and he found he could tell the exact position of the sun without looking up, from the spot of warmth it seemed to want to sear into his skin. He glanced around nervously, and it was like seeing and hearing the entire crowd all at once, and each person individually at the same time, as if his conciousness had expanded endlessly and simultaneously fragmented into a thousand shards, every one as alert as the other. A cacaphony of odors tumbled into his nostrils, each vying to gain the upper hand - pavement and gritty dirt slicked with an oily veneer of car exhaust; the smell of paper, ink and glue wafting out of a nearby bookstore, carried on the breeze of the shop door swinging open; the acrid sting of cigarette smoke spiking the mellow-sweet aroma of cotton candy and the pungent, slightly acidic stench of grease and fast food. And humans - he could detect a pandemonium of chemical fragrances they'd used to mask what easily revealed itself to his senses, smells of sweat and skin and hair in various degrees of cleanliness, hints of things they'd ingested or smoked emanating from their pores. And the smell of blood, rich and coppery. Here and there it seemed interspersed with a hint of decay, a sick smell that made him recoil; but where it smelled clean and fresh, it made his mouth water and he gritted his teeth, ignoring the hollow ache in his stomach. He realized he could discern fragments of their thoughts and emotions, brushing his mind like ghostly fingers, now and then pushing in briefly, forcefully and making it spin off-center like a top hitting an obstacle. He felt his step falter and reminded himself to focus, to fix his gaze on Brian and concentrate, to keep walking. "Come on, Sonnyboy..." He could hear the words from a distance even over the riot of sounds, but then he wasn't sure if his ears had picked them up or if they'd simply penetrated his conciousness, smooth and warm as dark honey and as strong and reassuring as Brian's hand had felt curving around his back minutes before. He smiled, suddenly elated, buoyed by a rush of strength and confidence that carried him into Brian's waiting embrace. ***** The old wooden stairs creaked softly under Justin's feet as he descended, heading for the front door of the hospice. He'd left Emmett upstairs, alone with memories and boxes of personal belongings they'd come to pick up, agreeing to wait outside. He was saddened by Emmett's loss, and at the same time relieved to escape the old house, whose walls had virtually soaked up the smell of death, decay and pharmaceuticals like a sponge. Here in the quiet atmosphere, where human demise hovered under the ceiling like a stifling cloud, Justin felt more vibrantly alive than ever. He'd never have to think about these things, he reminded himself, he could walk out and forget this place and everything about it, like a visit to a strange culture with customs that had nothing to do with him at all. He felt a fresh wave of sympathy for Emmett; how different it was for him, to leave here and have to think about the gloomy possibilities his own future held in store, or about the vast invisible microcosm that had so many ways of starting a time bomb ticking in his own bloodstream, if it hadn't already, completely undetected. Justin walked slowly along the long corridor leading toward the front of the building. Despite his own near brush with death, he hadn't really thought about it very much - how close he'd come, yes, but not the finality of it all. He'd awakened bandaged and alive, not even knowing Brian had stripped him of all those concerns, as quickly and surely as he'd been peeled out of his clothing just last night. Death was so far removed from them, Justin thought gratefully, even if they had to feed there was no need to kill. It was all about life, sustaining life, their own and others'. There was nothing to be afraid of. He rounded another corner, still drifting on placid thoughts, and it made the surprise that stopped him in his tracks all the more jolting. Hobbs, he thought, stunned. Hobbs! For a crazy moment he was sure any minute now he'd wake up, shaken and sweaty, with Brian leaning over him and reassuring him it was only another dream. Chris Hobbs looked up and when he realized it was Justin, rooted to the spot on the section of dry floor in front of him, he stopped the back and forth motion of the mop in his hands and narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?" Justin asked, hearing the tremor in his own voice. "Having a blast," Hobbs snapped. "The time of my life. My 500 hours of community service, what do you think?" He regarded Justin contemptuously. "What about you, you got AIDS?" "No." "You will. Sooner or later all you fags end up here." Walk, Justin told himself, grappling for composure, just turn around and leave, go out the back. He felt himself nearly jump out of his skin when Hobbs jerked the handle of the mop and took half a menacing step in his direction. Hobbs snickered. "What's the matter, scared? Little faggot?" No, Justin thought; no, I won't be. I'm not. He gritted his teeth and felt the sharp points of his incisors prick at the inside of his lower lip and the twinge of pain centered him, reminded him of what was real here and now. For Hobbs, reality still included the horrors in the parking garage, and the worst and only consequence of that was the mop in his hands and the hours he clocked off. Soon they'd be over with and forgotten, just like everything else. I can change that, Justin thought, feeling hard anger begin to seethe inside himself. It propelled him forward in slow, measured steps, and he watched surprise register on Hobbs' face and then drain away again, the features deflating into an expression of numbed apathy. Hobbs made no move when Justin stepped close, except to blink sleepily, jaw slack, and when Justin pulled the mop out of his grasp and let it clatter noisily to the floor, his hands dropped passively to his sides. Justin let his eyes leave Hobbs' for the split second it took to look up and down the corridor, but neither they or any of his other senses detected any other presence nearby; they were alone, at least for the time being, but he'd have to be fast and stay alert. Justin grasped Hobbs by one shoulder and was a little surprised at how little effort it took to turn him about-face and push him into the wall and hold him there, struggling weakly and making low whimpering noises in his throat. "Shut up," Justin hissed, shoving forward. "Now who's scared? It isn't me. Get on your knees." Justin reached up to put both hands on Hobbs' shoulders, pushing firmly and dragging him downward until he landed on his knees painfully and with a solid thud, the whimpers increasing in volume as his hands scrabbled uselessly at the wall in front of his face. Justin grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back roughly. "I said, shut the fuck up, you stupid little pussy," Justin repeated. Hobbs' wide-eyed stare met his own, but he tore his gaze away and quickly bent down to sink his teeth into the exposed throat in a single, hard jab, ignoring the man's squeak of fear and pain. His grip tightened as he swallowed the warm fluid rushes that flooded his mouth, split seconds apart, in time with Hobbs' flailing heart. He wasn't even hungry, he realized, but it satisfied some other part of him that craved this, to take something back that had been stolen from him, and leave some sort of indellible mark in its place. He quickly finished, closing the punctures easily, before Hobbs lost conciousness and he lost the opportunity to finish what he'd set out to do. "Look at me," he whispered, and when Hobbs' gaze swiveled to his face again he grinned, exposing blood-stained teeth. Hobbs' eyes bulged and he groaned pathetically. Glancing down, Justin noticed a wet spot begin to darken the crotch of Hobbs' pants, widening and deepening in color, until it spread downward to run down his leg. Justin wrinkled his nose in disgust, but he bent downward to speak into Hobbs' ear again. "You won't remember this," he said quietly. "You won't remember seeing me. Or ever figure out what made that mark in your neck. You won't even remember why you pissed your pants like a scared little girl, Hobbs. Except in your dreams, every night for the rest of your miserable life, you'll remember. And you'll see me in your dreams." The shove Justin gave his head before releasing his hair wasn't particularly hard, but there was a resounding "thunk" nevertheless as his forehead made contact with the wall. Justin backed away slowly, watching him rub the area and then at the wound in his neck, movements sluggish like those of a sleepwalker. Before he could recover and get to his feet, Justin turned to walk the rest of the way down the dim corridor, his footsteps fast, soundless. By the time he reached the front door of the hospice and burst into the light of day, there was a bounce in his step and he was smiling. TBC