Cold

Cold

Quiet music called wretchedly in the background, accompanied by the plink of the raindrops falling in through the leaking roof.

The bar was quiet, as the bar always was.

Nobody respectable would go to this bar, with its bloodshot-eyed bartender and the silent, secretive patrons that were always whispering and looking shiftily over their shoulders.

Paton sat on one of the damp stools, his hands gripping the dirty glass in front of him.

He wore a leather jacket, which was usually closed, but it was open then.

There was no need to hide the blood from the people at this bar. Nobody cared. They saw bloodshed every night.

They didn't know Paton's situation was different from any of the others.

"There's no need to stay here huggin' your drink if you're done with it. Gimme that, and beat it, kid!"

The bartender dealt Paton a bloodshot stare, and Paton smiled slyly, but slid the empty glass across the counter without complaint.

I suppose I do look like a kid, still, thought Paton as he walked out into the rain.

He stood still on the threshold of the bar for a moment or two, gazing up into the darkening sky, and letting the rain pelt him.

It went into his eyes, but he did not blink.

The blood underneath his jacket began to wash away, and drip in rain-mingled droplets onto the pavement.

Paton brought his head down again, and strode off round the side of the bar.

He searched the dustbins there. A thread of blood coming from one of them was beginning to seep out and join a river of rainwater that travelled down to the gutter in the road.

Underneath the gutter, rats would be sitting up, and tasting the blood and water mix.

Paton headed towards the leaking dustbin.

He snatched off the lid.

"Aha! Gotcha!"

But then he frowned. There was nothing there.

"Shit. Playing hard-to-get, are you?"

As expected, he recieved no answer from the empty dustbin.

He kicked it in anger, then shut his eyes and concentrated.

His nostrils flared as he struggled to decipher her scent from the rest of the smells around him.

His kind didn't have a fantastic sense of smell. But it was enough.

He caught the smell on the breeze, and followed it hypnotically over the dustbins, sending things clattering without noticing.

***

Bryony crouched in the alley, hugging her knees and hoping against hope that Paton would not find her.

She'd been clever enough to pretend to be more wounded than she really was, so that he wouldn't think she could get away.

Paton hadn't realised it, but he'd related information about himself to her.

Not in anything specific he'd said. Just in the way his heart had beat when he'd dragged her to the dustbin. And in the ways his hands had trembled slightly as he'd let her down. And in the way he'd looked at her as she'd lain there.

All these things added up to something.

Paton, the merciless Paton, was feeling regret.

And that made him even more dangerous.

"Pretty," came a low, crooning voice from closeby.

Bryony quieted her frantic breathing.

Paton could feel her heart beat in the enclosed space. Paton could feel the way the air pressures changed as her breath came silently in and out. And for a moment, when he rounded that corner and caught sight of her huddled form, Paton hesitated.

A strange emotion took over him. Guilt, and fear of what he'd become.

Ever since that night, he thought almost with remorse.

***

Bryony's heart thumped in her head, and her legs burned with the effort, but she kept running. Running away.

She vaulted over the fence without a pause in her stride. Her legs began to move mechanically, the pain draining away.

No! What has he done to me?

She stopped, her breath coming easily, as though she'd not just run about two miles in a very short space of time.

He's made me stronger. He's made me like him. But why?

She fell to her knees, scraping up earth with cracked, pale fingers, and her tears fell like glittering diamonds.

No! I don't what to be what he is. Please don't let this happen to me!

Bryony didn't know who she was addressing in her mind, but her thoughts were shredded when she heard the rattle of the fence behind her, and a soft sound as boots hit the ground.

She whirled round, still crouched, and saw him. He was the one who'd done it to her. Paton!

But this Paton was quite different from the one she had known before. His eyes were dark and haunted, but holding a strange layer of emotion. She could sense his thoughts, passing like swift dreams in front of her eyes, meaning little.

She rose to her feet, and he met her brutal gaze with an expression of......well, Bryony couldn't tell. But the emotion in his eyes was unnatural, considering what he was......

"Bryony," he said, and it was as though he'd realised for the first time that Bryony was who she was.

Something in his tone made Bryony stand up and face him, anger ebbing away as she sensed how lost he was.

"Yes?"

Paton stepped towards her for a few paces, then stopped, the lost expression taking over his calm features again.

"What have I done?" he asked helplessly.

"You've turned me into one of you," Bryony informed him coldly, as her anger returned.