Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Alpha and Omega ❯ Chapter 1
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Mad Maxx Coyote 
Here we go.
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Drama / Fantasy / Romance | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 03.26.2009 | Updated On: 03.28.2009 | Pages: 6 | Words: 9.3K | Visits: 535 | Status: Work In Progress
Here we go.
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Drama / Fantasy / Romance | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 03.26.2009 | Updated On: 03.28.2009 | Pages: 6 | Words: 9.3K | Visits: 535 | Status: Work In Progress
Brett didn't know who invented the alarm clock. All he knew was he hated the bastard, groaning he turned over and slapped at his nightstand until he found the shrieking pile of plastic. Silencing the foul annoyance with the push of a button, he sunk face first into the mattress.
"I don't wanna get up." Brett whined. He was so tired; he had not been able to get hardly any sleep for the past few weeks. The thought of just staying home lingered in his mind, as it did every morning. But he had class, and knowing his luck the one day he did not show up would be the one day some type of very important material, test related no doubt, would be covered.
Groaning he pushed himself up, and rotated his neck to get the kinks out. He had lain wrong again, and now he was going to pay for it all day. Rolling off the bed Brett scratched his ribs as he shuffled off into the bathroom, very nearly stubbing his toe in the doorway as he went through.
"Gah..." Brett groaned as he flipped the light switch on, blinding himself as the room was flooded with light. With his eyes closed he sat on the toilet, after a few moments he slowly opened his eyes to stare at the floor, it hurt less, and went about his business.
When he had been able to sleep he had been having some very odd dreams, odd because they were just splashes of images running through his mind rapidly. Always too fast for him to even focus on more than the broadest of details, and sometimes he swore he could hear what sounded like hundreds of voices whispering in his ear. Mostly it was just a faint wall of sound when you got right down to it, and his brain had gone so far as to make up languages apparently, because they sure as hell weren't speaking English... or any other language he had ever heard.
His knees popped painfully as he stood and he leaned over the sink. Looking at his reflection in the mirror Brett smiled sadly at himself, he had puffy dark circles under his eyes, and his medium length hair was frizzy and entangled. Dark, near black chest hair sat on his way too pale skin, and his skin wasn't the mmm milky kind of pale, no it was the never see the sun, sickly, kind of pale. Of course, the hair that he hated trailed down to his stomach, his pudgy, bloated stomach, which was part of the reason he was so pale, because no way in hell was he taking his shirt off in public. It just screamed, at your at least 20 pounds overweight fat ass! Oh! Oh! Watch me bunch up into a nice, rolly blob pouch when you sit down!
It didn’t make any sense; he worked out for years, and still continued to work out to this very day, hours every single day. It was almost as if he was cursed, as if the body he had just would not change regardless of what he did.
"God your ugly." Brett whispered. Hairy arms, hairy chest, hairy fat belly, hairy pale legs, hairy flat ass, ratty dull hair that never looked good matter what he did to it, slightly stained and crooked teeth, puke green eyes, and a face that was hardly smooth and supple. Yeah... was it any wonder his sex life was nil? His on-again, off-again girlfriend certainly never seemed interested, at least not after she'd seen him naked once. Not much he could have done about it, he had walked out of the shower and there she was. That's what he got for leaving the door unlocked her, but he really thought that he would be done and dressed before she showed up.
He been trying to improve himself for years, he worked out; he ate well and avoided large amounts of junk food. But nothing seemed to help; even his family doctor was confused.
"That’s enough self bitching for this morning," Brett said to his reflection. "Just get over it and get the day done."
But even as he said it, as he began to brush his teeth he could not quite pushed it away. If he was being honest he knew what had him down, at least for right now.
She had canceled on him once again, their schedules had become so different that he had not seen his girlfriend in over four weeks, and last night was supposed to be the night that they got together. He had been excited, which now made him feel more than a little foolish, it was just dinner and a movie after all. But an hour before she was supposed to arrive, she called to cancel, saying something come up.
Of course at that point he had already gotten ready, which made him feel even more foolish. To be honest, he was a little upset with her, maybe something really had come up, but...more and more over the last year it seemed like it was always something. Not that it mattered, he knew if he said something that it would lead to her getting pissed off at him, which would undoubtedly mean he would be single again.
Basically, Brett had two choices, either bottle it up, or forget about it.
Grabbing his brush Brett winced as he caught it in the knots in his hair, and once again he thought about just going right back to bed. After class he was supposed to go to the study group, oh joy there, and then... well nothing really. Fun fun.
"Hey... maybe I'll luck out and get hit by a bus." Brett muttered.
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"What does it take to make him shut up?" Brett thought as he stared across the study table. The object of his discontent?
Tucker Ekin.
If there ever was a man, who embodied nearly every single gay stereotype... it was Tucker Ekin. Vapid, gossipy as hell, hands that moved as fast as his mouth, wore clothing so tight you could easily tell what religion his family was, and possibly the most annoying lispy voice Brett had ever heard. One could also not help but notice, which Tucker made damn sure that you didn't, that he not only sounded like a girl, acted like one, and even refer to himself as a Ms. but to top it all off. When Tucker talked about his sex life, which was often, he always referred to his ass as his boy pussy, which pretty much made Brett want to strangle him.
For all intents and purposes, Brett pretty much hated Tucker. Now it wasn't because of the trite, annoying, and at times disgusting things Tucker said, nor was it because of his over-the-top homosexuality. No it was because of Tucker's last three most striking qualities.
Bitchy, mean, and a tongue that could cut to the bone.
Brett knew this quite well, as he was often targeted by all of it.
How often?
Each and every single time they saw each other, which was nearly every single day, of every single week. He had yet to discover just why the bleach blonde despised him so much, he had never even met Tucker before the study group, and the first thing he ever said to the man was hello. To which Tucker had responded with a very colorful way of calling Brett fat, ugly and expressed disgust on having to be near him. Later he had been told Tucker had just been having a really bad day, boyfriend left him or something, like that made it better.
One chair away from Brett was Rick Williams, Rick wasn't someone Brett would call a friend per se, he was more of an acquaintance, but he never gave Brett any trouble.
6 foot three, 200 some odd pounds, and a damn good basketball player Rick really wasn't anything that either annoyed or caught Brett's attention. However, he was often the object of Tucker's attention, much to Rick's own displeasure. Brett wasn't sure of the whole story; all he knew was Tucker liked black men and athletes and Rick was both.
It was interesting because Rick did not seem to know how to deal with Tucker's not-so-subtle advances, he was far too nice to just pop Tucker in the face, but it seemed like Tucker took Rick's flustered actions the wrong way. Anyone with half a brain could see Rick was about as straight as they came, but this WAS Tucker they were talking about after all.
Across the table and one up were the three cheerleaders. Trina, Kiki, and Britney. They were friendly with Tucker, and thus definitely not friends of Brett's. He really didn't pay much attention to them.
At the very end of the table was Brian, local punk who Brett couldn't even understand why he was in college. Or how he paid for it. He very rarely even showed up, and when he did he didn't do much. Technically, Brian was from down south, and he was totally a redneck, right down to the rebel flag on his hat.
Needless to say Brian did not get along with Tucker or Rick at all.
It didn't help the mud rakers mood that Tucker could totally beat him in a verbal joust any day of the week, and Rick just plain beat his ass. A strange kind of triangle had developed between the three, as Brian refused to refer to Tucker as anything other than faggot, to which Tucker would shoot back with a, yes cow fucker? Or, he who knocked his sister up?
Sooner or later Brian would lose his temper and stand up like he was going to do something. But when that happened, Rick, who hated bigotry period, would also stand up, and for whatever reason Brian was scared of Rick.
After that Tucker would sit there making doey -my hero- eyes at Rick for the rest of the day.
At first, Brett had thought Brian would just catch Tucker somewhere else, but now saw that that was not going to happen. Tucker was more than just a rich boy, his father was one of the top lawyers in the country and his uncle was mayor of their city, who had just so happened to have used his, my nephew, is gay so I understand spiel to swing more then a few votes his way.
Clearly, Brian was dumb, not stupid.
Finally, in the seat next to Brett, which was currently empty, usually sat Miles, who was running late. Miles, a cheerful and natural blonde, was probably the only person that Brett would call a friend, not a true friend, Miles and him really only interacted at class. So probably only a casual friend, but that's still counted nonetheless.
When Miles finally got there, they would start the usual agonizing note swap. Agonizing because none of them really got along with everyone, so why did they meet up every day?
Prof. Mary Bonnett.
An insufferable shrew of a woman, who each of them shared a class with. The woman was 50 plus years old and was seemingly convinced that every young person needed constant direction, and seemed to have some type of teamwork obsession. So to make sure they all did as she felt they should, she insisted on forming them into little groups herself, and to make sure they went whether they wanted to or not she would give each person only a portion of the notes they required.
Crazy bitch.
Not to mention her constant lectures on morals and how the glue of society was slowly decaying. Curiously, for all her love of teamwork, and desire for people to reach out. She seemed especially horrified at the very, very strong gay presence in their city. It didn't really bother Brett, but she was of course a good Christian woman on top of everything else.
He was just glad he wasn't on the same class schedule as Tucker and her. Their verbal wars were the stuff of legend on campus.
It pissed him off though, her in inane ramblings on subjects that had nothing to do with their class. Her class was not a religion and ethics class now was it? No, it was not.
It did not do much good to try and complain though, the school management was behind her all the way, most of them went to the same damned church as her, and none were too pleased with the homosexual threat that they perceived. But that was America now wasn't it?
Brett found it annoying, he was stuck in the middle anyway, he didn't give a damn about the religious fools, or the gay people. Both could be equally pushy when they wanted to be. It didn't concern him; he was neither religious nor gay.
He had thought about it of course, being with a man that was, he felt everyone did at one time, but never dwelled upon it. After only a few hours with Tucker every other day, he knew with a great deal of certainty that he did not want someone like that in his personal life. Plus, Tucker made sure to let him know how undesirable he was, besides Bret had a girlfriend, granted things were a little strained between them at the moment, but he did have one.
As for church... he had never cared for it, sure he believed, there had to be something out there after all. A God made just as much sense as the scientific theory of a bunch of crap blowing up. But truthfully, he had always felt a little silly sitting in church, and at times he would giggle. Not the best thing to do in church he discovered, it had always been a source of contention between him and his parents.
"Foster parents." Brett thought bitterly.
For some reason they had felt the need to drop that bomb on him on his 18th birthday. "Just felt you should know." His mother had said.
Actually, he had been perfectly happy not knowing, especially when his dad, who had never been all that warm to him, of course now Brett knew why... because he wasn't his real son, had knocked back more than a few drinks and told him that he had been found by a garbage man in a trash can.
Brett was not sure how true that was, his dad had been very drunk, and his mom had been screaming in the background the entire time. About an hour later, his mom had called back, she had apologized profusely, stating that dad had been under tremendous stress at work and was just taking it out on everyone. But she had not said that it wasn't true, and he had been far too afraid to ask.
It was bad enough to discover that they were not his blood parents... but to be told he had been thrown away to die? How was anyone supposed to deal with that?
He supposed he should have known that something might have been up. After all, they were both tall, blond hair and blue eyes, and he wasn't. He was 5 foot nine, dark hair and green eyes. But for some reason, he had never given it any thought.
What really hurt him was how they had begun treating him, now that they had told him their little secret. Miles had a stepfather, his real dad had died in a car accident years ago, and that man treated Miles like gold. So why was he so different?
It had been like that his whole life, even with his best childhood friends, sooner or later everyone just... changed. He didn't understand it at all, he was a good person, a good student, and didn't cause anyone any problems. So why? Why had the people who had raised him suddenly become distant and cold? They didn't call, they hardly ever returned his calls, and they did not even sign the Christmas card that they had sent him.
It hurt so much, and all he could think of was that now that he had moved out. They had decided they were done with him. It seemed impossible, yet what else could it be? They were no longer responsible for him, even if he carried their name. When he had been accepted to the school in the first place and found a place to live, they had promised some financial assistance, but at this point he wasn't holding his breath. If they could not even return a phone call. Then they damn sure were not going to send money for books.
"Maybe I ought to just change my name." Brett thought sadly.
The front door bell chimed and Brett turned his head towards the sound. A smiling, yet slightly out of breath Miles walked in. Brett smiled faintly, he really enjoyed Miles's company, and perhaps one day the other man would accept one of his invitations to visit.
Or maybe the poison inside of him would turn Miles against him.
Brett sighed and turned back in his chair, it had happened with disturbing regularity throughout the years... why stop now?
"All right, let's get this over with." Tucker lisped. "The sooner I can get away from Fug over here, the better."
"Shove it up your ass Tucker; I'm sure there's plenty of room by now." Brett shot back.
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Miles watched as everyone packed up, it had been their usual agonizing study session. Maybe even more so, Tucker had been just taking shot after shot at poor Brett. Miles had had to tell the pretty boy to shut it a record 18 times, it had probably been Brett's comment about Tucker's ass being loose that had provoked the bleach blonde. Personally Miles had thought it had been a pretty good counter, especially considering the fact that Brett usually just absorbed all of the barbs sent his way. But those were fighting words to Tucker, of course with Brett it was hard to tell if any thing Tucker said really bothered him.
To be honest he did not know what Tucker had against the brunette, Brett just seem to bring out the bitch in Tucker.
Just as Miles began to pull his coat on, he noticed that Brett had not even gotten up out of his chair yet, he was just sitting there, staring off into space. Miles felt guilty then, Brett always seem like he was so alone, an outcast even among outcasts. Which was weird because Brett really wasn't all that shy, he was quiet yes, once he knew it was okay to talk to you however. Then he was very friendly, perhaps desperately so.
It had been a lark, a little curious urge when he had first spoken to the quiet little brunette that sat in the back of the classroom. He really had not meant anything by it, but it had apparently meant something to Brett. After that Brett had always said hello to him, asked him how he was doing, and all of that. So Miles had ended up getting to know Brett a little bit, and found out that they actually had a few things in common.
So one day, once again, just on a whim, Miles had given Brett his phone number. He had not expected Brett to actually call him, but he had. Called him to ask if he wanted to get together and hang out, inviting him over to see his place, and stuff like that. It never got annoying, it was not like Brett called him all the time, maybe once or twice a month, and lately not even that. But Miles always found himself declining, it made him feel really guilty, but he couldn't seem to stop. It was just... there was something about Brett, Miles could really only stand to be close to him for an hour or two before he felt like screaming.
It was nothing Brett did, it was just... being close to him made Miles's skin crawl, like he had billions of ants swarming under his flesh. If Brett talked too long it actually made Miles's ears hurt, if he looked at Brett for too long his eyes would also start to bother him. Not only that he would find himself getting more and more agitated, and feeling mean.
He did not understand it, from a distance. He felt sorry for Brett and wanted to reach out to him. But once he actually did it would seriously make him start to feel sick and all he could think of was getting the hell away. It didn't make any sense, yet it happened every single time, even just sitting next to Brett at the study table for as long as he had had not been easy.
Miles was a spiritualist, he believed that every living thing, both animal and plant, had not only a life force within them, but with-out them, an aura if you will. He had always been very empathetic, been able to judge a person's mood just by being near them. Not just people either, but animals as well, be it a stray or his own pets.
From that he always got a really weird vibe from Brett, and he couldn't help but think that maybe something was wrong with Brett's... aura… silly as that sounded.
Whatever it was. It was powerful; usually he had to be touching a person to really feel the...spark within them. But with Brett...hell from 5 feet away he felt the tingles, he sometimes wondered if he wasn't the only one to feel it, and he really wanted to ask, but he didn't dare. He could not even picture asking Tucker or Brian such a question, and when he had explained his beliefs to Rick. The other guy had just become convinced he was doing voodoo or something. It was annoying, especially when Tucker called him a new age magician.
He still felt horrible for Brett, and angry with himself. If he could feel it...then maybe he could fix it. He had been blessed with the ability after all... so wasn't it almost like... his duty to help? He just wished he had someone he could ask, but both his parents were Jewish, and although they respected him enough to allow him his own beliefs, he also knew they got a little freaked out just by looking at his bookshelves. Still... maybe it might be worth mentioning, they had always been supportive, and his dad had even gone out and found one of the rarer books he had been looking for, for years and bought it for him.
Come to think of it, Miles recalled Bret mentioning some trouble with his own parents, he wasn't sure what it was but at least he could land an ear.
That settled it then, it was time to man up, and he knew just the place.
"Hey Brett." Miles called out. Brett turned in his chair to look back at Miles with a pair of worn out eyes. Miles had not noticed the dark circles under Brett's eyes earlier, but the poor guy looked like hell.
"Yeah?" Brett grunted. Here goes...
"Wanna hang out for a few?" Miles asked. "I was thinking about Zaz's." Brett's eyes lit up, and he grinned.
"Hell yeah."
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Zaz's, probably the biggest arcade multiplex in the USA. It was the perfect place to take Brett, because for one the man kicked ass at the arcade, and two it gave Miles a lot of ways to get some relief if he needed it.
Frank Downing was the owner, a hippie straight out of the 60s; he'd been at Woodstock and everything, had ended up winning a huge lottery about twenty years back. He probably wouldn't have ever started a business, if not for his son Zaz.
Zaz Downing had been big into videogames since the whole business had started, and it had always been his dream to open his own arcade. But drunk driver on a cold rainy night had ended all of that for him.
So Frank surprisingly, had taken it upon himself to make his son’s dream a reality. Frank, who had not known an arcade cabinet from a China Cabinet, and had barely ever even worked in his life, let alone run a business, had managed to turn the place into one of the most successful arcades during the late 70s, all of the 80s, and first half of the 90s.
Then home consoles had come and begin to take over, and the arcade business had all but died. A lot of people felt Frank should just have shut the place down, he had kept the dream running for over twenty years, but Frank had refused, perhaps out of the lingering memory of his son. Or maybe he had just grown to love the place.
So Zaz's had limped along, till finally Frank looked long and hard at the little company he had built, and took perhaps the biggest gamble of his life.
He got ruthless to the other businesses around him, expanded his location, added everything he could think of, and had turned his son's dream back into the powerhouse it had been simply by making it THE place to be. Zaz's had it all now, the arcade itself, a mini pizza place, and an authentic Chinese restaurant. A real bar, a few novelty shops, a three screen movie theater, and even a dance club at the other end.
Frank had bet it all, gambling on the fact that theirs was basically a college town, and all the kids would want somewhere to go.
It had paid off, everyone went there, not only for the various entertainment spots, but also for the best, and cheapest, home made pizza, burgers, and Chinese food in town. Not only that the aging Frank still roamed the place, with a smile, kind words, and a pocket full of tokens. In a bold move, Frank had had all the token machines modified so that instead of a token equaling a quarter. It now equaled a dime. Not only that, if Frank saw your game at a continue screen. He would just pop in a token for you.
In short... Zaz's rocked.
It was also the only place Miles could take Brett and not really be affected by him. There were plenty of excuses for him to walk away for a few moments.
Frank had installed Japanese-style arcade cabinets, so even if you were playing the same game. Instead of standing next to each other, each game had two stations, so you sat across from each other. Plus Brett played a mean game of Street fighter.
Which was why his Ken was standing victoriously over Miles's Bison, for about the twelfth time. Sighing Miles flopped back in the arcade seat.
"You are way too damn good at this." He groaned. Brett did not reply, he probably could not hear Miles over the thumping noise of the arcade. Glancing up at the screen he saw Brett's cursor over Vega, and he about screamed.
"Oh don't you even! Pick somebody you suck with for once!"
Brett laughed sadistically and switched over to Gen instead, which was even worse.
"Old man Frank is going to get rich off of me beating your ass!"
Miles smiled, Brett sounded like he was having a good time, and that was worth a couple of bucks...and humiliation.
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M iles groaned inwardly, things had been going pretty well, right until Brett suggested they grab some grub. Miles hadn't thought anything of it; Brett was offering to buy for him, which made it hard for Miles to say no. But now that they were sitting at the table, across from each other, it was starting to get to Miles. He could feel it already, the prickling sensation under his skin.
"What is this?" Miles thought. Why did he get such a feeling from Brett, and why could he feel it in the first place? He wanted to say something to Brett, he really did. But what could he say? What could he possibly say that wouldn't make Brett think he was nuts?
Hey man... I don't know if you know this, but you've got like... this fucked aura that makes me feel like I'm going crazy, and I don't really think I'm the only one.
Yeah, cause that made sense to say.
God... if only there was someone he could ask about this, someone that knew about things like this, but he didn't understand how he could sense the things that he could in the first place, it was like it was something out of a movie. Maybe if he went through his books he might find something?
"You're a good guy Miles." Brett suddenly said between bites of pizza. "No one else ever wants to hang out with me. I really appreciate it."
Miles's stomach dropped.
"Oh God... don't say shit like that. Not when all I want to do is scream for you to get the fuck away from me." Miles thought, out loud he said. "It's no problem man."
It was ridiculous, but Miles could actually feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat. He felt guilty, yet at the same time a little voice inside of him was screaming for him to get away.
Unnatural, that was how Brett felt to him, something you really did not want to get near. But why? Brett really didn't look very threatening; in fact... he was rather plain. He reminded Miles kind of like putty, with a little work he could go either way, either ugly or handsome, but as it stood. There was nothing that really stood out about Brett. Nothing that caught your attention and held it, if you saw him in a crowd your eyes could just pass right over him without a second thought.
"Hey... are you all right?" Brett asked. "You don't look so good." Miles almost sighed in relief, an opening.
"I need to use the bathroom." Miles lied. "Think I ate too much."
"You're not going to be sick are you?" Brett asked, making Miles feel even guiltier.
"Nah just gotta take the Browns to the Super Bowl." Miles replied. Brett chuckled.
"You’re gross."
With that Miles got up, leaving the food court in a big hurry. He supposed his excuse would cover it, if you really had to go he would be moving after all. Reaching the men's room Miles went right for the stall, slipping in he shut and locked the door.
He sat right down on the toilet, pants on, of course. The buzzing crawl under his skin had vanished, so did the frantic screaming in his head. He didn't understand this at all. He had always been confused as to why he could feel things and no one else seemed to be able to, but at least he had been able to find books on the subject. Granted most of them were useless, only a few authors had merit. But what was he supposed to ask about this? What was he going to do... Google it?
Miles sighed and laid his head in his hands. Bizarre and ridiculous is what this was.
He thought and thought and thought, but nothing came to him. At this rate he was going to have to ask his dad, they might not share the same faith, but his dad took the things he said, much more seriously than his mom.
Before Miles knew it. He had been in the bathroom for fifteen, twenty minutes, he was not totally sure. Popping up off of the toilet Miles exited the stall, and there was a rather disgruntled looking man standing outside who jumped right into the stall. Miles brushed him and his pissed off stare off without a second thought. So he had to wait a few…big deal.
Out of habit, he went over to the sink, and began to wash his hands. Once again, he found himself lost in thought. What ever was wrong with Brett it felt... unnatural, out of place. Could he infer from that, that it was not the way Brett should be?
It seemed logical, but then... when something went wrong in nature did it ever go wrong naturally? He felt way in over his head about this, and if he was not so sure about what he was feeling... then he would probably think he was crazy.
Miles realized he had been washing his hands for quite a while now, the cranky man in the stall had already left, and pulled away from his thoughts.
He needed to get back, he wasn't sure what he was going to do when he got there, but he had wasted enough time. Pulling away from the sink Miles turned towards the paper towel dispenser and pulled a couple out. As he dried his hands Miles felt a hand touch him on his shoulder, and a split second later it felt like someone had just jabbed him with a cattle prod.
Crying out Miles jerked away and whirled around. A somewhat startled, amused Brett was standing there.
"Don't do that!" Miles hissed. Brett smiled.
"Sorry to startle you, but I wanted to see if you were all right. You've been gone like half an hour."
God... this felt worse than ever before, his whole arm had gone numb.
"You didn't scare me, that fucking hurt!" Miles snapped. Brett blinked, obviously confused.
"But all I did was touch you..." Brett said innocently. "Is that your bad shoulder?" Well yes, it was but that wasn't the point.
Brett reached out again, perhaps to rub at Miles's shoulder in an apologetic gesture. But the moment Miles realized what Brett was about to do, he panicked. He slapped Brett's hand away, hard, getting another milder jolt before he backpedaled to the wall.
"Don't touch me!" Miles screamed, the rational part of his brain slipping into the background. If just one touch did that... who knew what else might happen to Miles. He was frightened, well and truly afraid for his well-being. If he couldn't think straight, he would have laughed, but he couldn't, so he didn't. "Just get away! Keep your freaky hands off of me!"
Brett recoiled, visibly hurt.
"F-F-F-Freak?" Brett gasped. "Freak!? What the fuck Miles?!"
Brett took a step toward Miles, and that little voice inside of his head went into overdrive, screaming "Get it away! Get it away!" His arm was numb, his hand tingling, his skin felt like it was about to crawl right off of his bones... he would not be surprised if he puked right now.
"Back off!" Miles snapped. "Just stay away, there something wrong with you!" Brett shook with anger, his eyes bubbling with hurt.
"I thought you were my friend..." Brett whispered. "But you're just like everyone else... what was this all about huh? Setting me up for some kind of prank? Asshole... fucking asshole!"
Brett spun on his heel and rushed out of the restroom. Almost immediately after he left Miles began to feel better, and with that he began to realize just what he had done.
"Oh shit..." Miles gasped. Had that really just happened? Had he just said all of that? How did he go from wanting to help Brett, to being terrified of him in a split second later? Miles rubbed at his shoulder... what was that? How did Brett do that just by touching him?
A wave of guilt crashed over Miles, he should not have done that, but he couldn't help it... it had just happened.
"Fuck." Miles spat. "Brett!" He called out as he rushed out after Brett. "Brett!"
People began to give him odd looks as he scanned the large crowd for the dark-haired man, but Brett was gone. Even if he was still in the building Brett had a way of just been swallowed up in a crowd.
"Fuck." Miles whispered.
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Mil es feet ached as he continued to walk home. It had long since gotten dark, he had not been able to catch up with Brett, and was ashamed that he did not actually know where Brett lived. He could have, and should have, taken the bus. But he was so pissed off at himself that he decided to walk.
He wished he had not; he had never walked home in the dark from as far as he had come, and he was half expecting to get jumped any moment now. He had gotten the feeling back in his arm, but it still felt all weird, but even factoring that in he could not believe how he had reacted. It was as if something had taken over him, he had almost felt like some Hollywood style monster had been standing in front of him.
But how could little Brett, who was at least 6 inches shorter than him, frightened him on such a primal level? And with just a simple touch? They had skipped some levels for sure, because he had gone from zero to holy shit panicked way too fast.
It made no sense, none of this made any sense. But hell, forget trying to find out how to help Brett, how the hell was he going to get Brett to even speak to him again?
Sighing, Miles stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was probably stupid of him to feel so responsible, he had only known Brett for a little over eight months, but he did feel responsible. Not only because of how he was raised, if you see someone who needs help you help them and all that jazz. But also because Brett was like him, he was different than everyone else. He had something inside of him that perhaps no one else did, but where as Miles so called gift had helped him in life, Brett's seem to hinder him.
"I can do this." Miles thought as he turned the corner, only one more street and he would be home.
Miles drew himself out of his thoughts just in time to hear heavy, shoeless sounding footsteps coming at him from his right. He turned his head to look just before large hand shot out of the dark alley and literally yanked him off of his feet and out of the light of the street.
Whoever it was slammed him against the wall of one of the nearby buildings, he kicked at his attacker... for all the good it did, the guy didn't even budge, and it felt like he was kicking rock.
"Let me go-mmph!" Miles screamed right before his assailant clamped a huge hand over his mouth. Suddenly the guy pressed his face into Miles upper chest and began... sniffing. What the hell?
Then the smell of the man hit Miles, and he nearly passed out from it. It was the worst mix of body odor and earthly filth he had ever smelled in his life. From behind the bastards hand Miles gagged, reaching out he got a big handful of the man's equally filthy hair and pulled as hard as he could.
Once again, the guy didn't even flinch; instead he just continued to sniff at Miles like a dog. He reached Miles's shoulder and seemed to hesitate, and then took a big sniff. An excited noise spilled out of his attacker’s mouth and Miles stomach dropped. What did he want?! Money? Miles didn't have much on him, why hadn't he said anything? Dear God... was this guy going to... rape him? Kill him?
"E'es here!" The man exclaimed. He raised his head up, and Miles found himself staring into the most bizarre eyes he had ever seen. The whites of his eyes were actually black, there was no pupil, and instead there was a green outline of a... star?
"Pentagram?" Miles thought, not qute….but it kinda looked reminded him of one, and that did not make any sense at all. How could a guy afford special contact lenses, but not bathe?
Unless of course he really was a demon of some sort
Miles began to struggle harder, he didn't believe in creatures from hell... but that didn't necessarily mean they did not exist.
His efforts were to no avail however, he could not even move the guy. The hand over his mouth lifted, and Miles sucked in a deep breath to scream for help. When the man's face pinched in closer, and Miles clamped his mouth shut, afraid the slime ball was going to bite him or kiss him or something.
He did not want any hobo rape.
"Where is e'e?" The man asked, his voice thick with an accent Miles had never heard. The guy was huge too, waaay bigger then even he was.
"W-What?" Miles stammered.
"Where is e'e?" The man repeated, firmer and a little angry.
"E?" Miles snapped. "What are you talking about? It's in the alphabet." The man growled and back hand slapped Miles in the stomach.
"E'e! Boy is e'e! Now where is e'e!?" The hobo giant snapped.
"He... you mean he." Miles said softly. It hadn't been a punch, but that had hurt. Then the man cocked his head to the side as if thinking.
"H-He... he..." the man muttered as if testing the word out before nodding. “Yays, he... where is he... tell me." His voice was calm and rather friendly all of a sudden, the anger gone. Mile squirming, he was not a small man; he was 6 foot four, and over 200 pounds. But this guy was holding him in the air with one hand!
"I... I don't know what you mean." Miles said. "Who is he?" Miles was really weirded out and worried now; this was a hell of a way to ask for directions.
"He touched you." The man insisted angrily. "Here." He squeezed Miles's shoulder hard enough to make him cry out. "He touched you. I can smell it." Smell it? The hell? This guy was obviously crazy, and why did he have to squeeze the shoulder that was already sore from Brett's... Brett... Brett had touched him there. But...
"I've been in crowds all day... a lot of people have touched me." Miles said, trying to stay calm, "A name would be useful if you want help." The rank man hung his head.
"Do not know name... but must find him." The man near sob. "Plays... plays help me. Been looking for so long..."
There was a deep sadness on the man, and he sounded heartbroken. Looking for a lost love one? Or just crazy? Still... he felt weird, and that weird feeling was familiar.
It felt like Brett, not as overpowering, or as frightening. His skin didn't crawl, though he could do without the smell. Was he looking for Brett? Were they connected somehow?
"I'd... I'd like to help." Miles said. "But I don't know who you are talking about." The man snarled, baring his teeth. His breath was as foul as the rest of him, maybe even worse. Miles wished it was not so dark; he could not really make out a face. If he got out of this, he certainly wanted something to give the police.
"Don't lie." The man said.
"I'm not." Miles insisted.
"Don't lie."
"I'm not."
"His scent is on you! Don't lie to me!" The man screamed in his face.
"I can't smell anything other than your rank ass! And a lot of people have touched me today!" Miles screamed back, his voice filled with fear.
"No. No. No." The man growled, pulling Miles back and shoving him against the brick wall with each no. "You must know something! You have to!" There was an edge of desperation in the man's voice, which only served to frighten Miles further.
"I don't have to know anything!" Miles shouted, hoping that someone would hear and come to help. "Now let me go!" Miles began to kick and punch at the man, again too little to no effect. The smelly hulk just pulled back and his arm was so long Miles could not reach him.
"Will hurt you, if not tell me." The man threatened. Miles was a loyal person, if this brute was indeed after Brett he could not just sic him on him. Yet at the same time he did not know if it really was Brett, plus he couldn't help even if it was and he wanted to. He did not know where Brett lived, let alone where he was right now.
"I don't know anything." Miles said.
"Will." The man growled, tightening his grip on Miles.
"I don't." Miles whispered.
"Will."
"I don't-"
"Will!" The man shouted and threw a punch at Miles's face. He flinched, closing his eyes. The sound of something hard breaking reached his ears and a split second later debris rained across his face. Shaking badly Miles slowly opened his eyes, and looked towards the brute’s fist.
It was buried up to the wrist in the wall.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!" Miles chanted in his mind.
"Will." The man snarled gravely, pushing his face and close to Miles’s own.
"I swear I don't know what you are talking about." Miles said meekly. It was the truth; he really didn't know what the fuck the freaky brute was talking about. Smelling him, something about looking, the guy was crazy, and certainly strong enough to hurt him.
He looked like he was about to say something else, but suddenly the alley was flooded with bright light, blinding the crap out of Miles. Squinting he spotted what might just have been the most beautiful sight in the world at that moment.
A police car.
One of them was standing behind the now open driver side door, the other still in the passenger's seat.
"What is going on over there?" Cop one asked.
"Oh, nothing much, just being held in the air by a freakishly strong, giant rank hobo." Miles thought, but was smart enough to yell "Oh God, help! Please!"
The cops seemed to grasp the situation and the driver reached for his side arm as his partner stepped out of the squad car.
"Alright, put him down and get on the ground with your hands behind your head and your ankles crossed!" Cop ordered.
"Reku authorities..." the giant growled as he dropped Miles, who landed painfully on his rear, and quickly crab walked towards the police.
"Put your hands behind your head and get on the ground now!“ Cop two repeated. Both of their weapons were now drawn, but the giant merely snorted and took off down the alley. Cop two went racing after him, and Miles heard a loud metal crunch as cop one helped him up.
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you." Miles whispered.
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Bre tt stared at the wall as he sat in the middle of his bed. He had wrapped himself up in his comforter, but he was still cold. Despite the name, it was not very comforting at the moment. But at least he had stopped crying...
He could not believe Miles had turned on him like that. Though he figured he shouldn't have been so surprise, everyone did sooner or later.
"Freak..." Brett whispered. How he hated that word, he heard it all the time... seemingly every day. Either spat in his face, or whispered behind his back.
Brett shivered, a fresh wave of emotion rolling over him. Didn't anyone care about him? Anyone at all? He wanted to call his parents, but he doubted they would even pick up. The only other numbers he had were for Miles and work, not exactly helpful. He really didn't have anyone did he? "Bastards." Brett muttered.
His gaze shifted over to the pill bottle on his table. With all of his sleeping problems lately he had ended up going to the doctor's, who had prescribed a rather powerful sleeping pill, nothing else had worked.
He was only supposed to take one a night. The bottle held sixty... five would kill a man, sixty should kill a hippo.
Brett sat there, staring at the bottle...
... and thought about it.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.
I watched as the blond one was escorted from the authority’s vehicle to the door of a house. They went inside and I pulled back to avoid detection. Was this the blond one's home? It would be easy enough to locate once again. I knew where it was now.
He had my Master's scent on him, of that I am sure. A feeling that I had not had in so long was welling up in my chest.
Hope.
I had a lead, after so long I had a lead. If I follow the blond one there was a chance he might lead me to my Master. Perhaps they visited the same areas, I know not. But I do know that my Master has touched him and recently. I only wish I could have made myself clearer, but I still have so little to go on.
Why couldn't he just tell me? I know he knows something, he must.
Sigh... that is not entirely true, but... I must have hope that he does... otherwise I have nothing again. This city is large and I cannot be sure that this is where my Master truly dwells. Even if he does…What if he leaves again? Surely tailing the blond one will be more productive than just wandering the city. Please let it be...
He had revealed nothing despite my threat, though we were interrupted, so I must assume that he does not know... that he knows. I can see no reason he would lie to me... I had made myself quite clear that I would harm him
And I would have... yes, I would have even killed him if needed, as guilty as that makes me feel, my Master comes before everything else. He is far too important, morals or no... he must be found.
There is a part of me that cannot believe that I even have a lead. So long with nothing, it is hard not to get my hopes up.
I came to this place for no real reason; there was nothing that set it apart from everything else. I will admit I had little hope, and as such, I simply trudged through, enduring the stares and comments wordlessly. Yes I know I look strange, yes I know that I am dirty, yes I know that I smell foul. I enjoyed none of that. What I would not give for a bath... several, and to cleanse my teeth, the taste in my mouth is horrible.
I had covered a small part of the town, and was once again bemoaning the situation I find myself in. One person searching for one person, if anything there should have been a team.
But as I reached a strip of buildings I caught it. At first I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but there it was, ever so faintly, my Master's scent.
I was stunned, after all this time; to just stumble across did like that. I'm afraid I may have caused some property damage in my search to find the source, or in what direction it went. It took me the better part of two hours, but I managed to track it to a very strange building. It was very large, full of machines that flashed and made noise, and there were so many people. But the scent was stronger there, if Master was there however. I could not find him and the other people inside were not kind to me at all.
He had been there, that I knew, and left, that I guessed. Out of sheer luck I had picked up a faint trail, it led me far away from the building with all the lights... and then I lost it. I wanted to scream then, so full of desperate panic that I could have cried. But as if willing to aid me the wind shifted, and I found it once more. It led me down the alley... and then I saw the blond one.
At first I thought he might have actually been my Master, but the scent was not strong enough. So I felt the need to question him... perhaps a little overzealously. But it matters not now. I have hope.
Follow the blond, find my Master.
I can only pray it will work.
"I don't wanna get up." Brett whined. He was so tired; he had not been able to get hardly any sleep for the past few weeks. The thought of just staying home lingered in his mind, as it did every morning. But he had class, and knowing his luck the one day he did not show up would be the one day some type of very important material, test related no doubt, would be covered.
Groaning he pushed himself up, and rotated his neck to get the kinks out. He had lain wrong again, and now he was going to pay for it all day. Rolling off the bed Brett scratched his ribs as he shuffled off into the bathroom, very nearly stubbing his toe in the doorway as he went through.
"Gah..." Brett groaned as he flipped the light switch on, blinding himself as the room was flooded with light. With his eyes closed he sat on the toilet, after a few moments he slowly opened his eyes to stare at the floor, it hurt less, and went about his business.
When he had been able to sleep he had been having some very odd dreams, odd because they were just splashes of images running through his mind rapidly. Always too fast for him to even focus on more than the broadest of details, and sometimes he swore he could hear what sounded like hundreds of voices whispering in his ear. Mostly it was just a faint wall of sound when you got right down to it, and his brain had gone so far as to make up languages apparently, because they sure as hell weren't speaking English... or any other language he had ever heard.
His knees popped painfully as he stood and he leaned over the sink. Looking at his reflection in the mirror Brett smiled sadly at himself, he had puffy dark circles under his eyes, and his medium length hair was frizzy and entangled. Dark, near black chest hair sat on his way too pale skin, and his skin wasn't the mmm milky kind of pale, no it was the never see the sun, sickly, kind of pale. Of course, the hair that he hated trailed down to his stomach, his pudgy, bloated stomach, which was part of the reason he was so pale, because no way in hell was he taking his shirt off in public. It just screamed, at your at least 20 pounds overweight fat ass! Oh! Oh! Watch me bunch up into a nice, rolly blob pouch when you sit down!
It didn’t make any sense; he worked out for years, and still continued to work out to this very day, hours every single day. It was almost as if he was cursed, as if the body he had just would not change regardless of what he did.
"God your ugly." Brett whispered. Hairy arms, hairy chest, hairy fat belly, hairy pale legs, hairy flat ass, ratty dull hair that never looked good matter what he did to it, slightly stained and crooked teeth, puke green eyes, and a face that was hardly smooth and supple. Yeah... was it any wonder his sex life was nil? His on-again, off-again girlfriend certainly never seemed interested, at least not after she'd seen him naked once. Not much he could have done about it, he had walked out of the shower and there she was. That's what he got for leaving the door unlocked her, but he really thought that he would be done and dressed before she showed up.
He been trying to improve himself for years, he worked out; he ate well and avoided large amounts of junk food. But nothing seemed to help; even his family doctor was confused.
"That’s enough self bitching for this morning," Brett said to his reflection. "Just get over it and get the day done."
But even as he said it, as he began to brush his teeth he could not quite pushed it away. If he was being honest he knew what had him down, at least for right now.
She had canceled on him once again, their schedules had become so different that he had not seen his girlfriend in over four weeks, and last night was supposed to be the night that they got together. He had been excited, which now made him feel more than a little foolish, it was just dinner and a movie after all. But an hour before she was supposed to arrive, she called to cancel, saying something come up.
Of course at that point he had already gotten ready, which made him feel even more foolish. To be honest, he was a little upset with her, maybe something really had come up, but...more and more over the last year it seemed like it was always something. Not that it mattered, he knew if he said something that it would lead to her getting pissed off at him, which would undoubtedly mean he would be single again.
Basically, Brett had two choices, either bottle it up, or forget about it.
Grabbing his brush Brett winced as he caught it in the knots in his hair, and once again he thought about just going right back to bed. After class he was supposed to go to the study group, oh joy there, and then... well nothing really. Fun fun.
"Hey... maybe I'll luck out and get hit by a bus." Brett muttered.
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"What does it take to make him shut up?" Brett thought as he stared across the study table. The object of his discontent?
Tucker Ekin.
If there ever was a man, who embodied nearly every single gay stereotype... it was Tucker Ekin. Vapid, gossipy as hell, hands that moved as fast as his mouth, wore clothing so tight you could easily tell what religion his family was, and possibly the most annoying lispy voice Brett had ever heard. One could also not help but notice, which Tucker made damn sure that you didn't, that he not only sounded like a girl, acted like one, and even refer to himself as a Ms. but to top it all off. When Tucker talked about his sex life, which was often, he always referred to his ass as his boy pussy, which pretty much made Brett want to strangle him.
For all intents and purposes, Brett pretty much hated Tucker. Now it wasn't because of the trite, annoying, and at times disgusting things Tucker said, nor was it because of his over-the-top homosexuality. No it was because of Tucker's last three most striking qualities.
Bitchy, mean, and a tongue that could cut to the bone.
Brett knew this quite well, as he was often targeted by all of it.
How often?
Each and every single time they saw each other, which was nearly every single day, of every single week. He had yet to discover just why the bleach blonde despised him so much, he had never even met Tucker before the study group, and the first thing he ever said to the man was hello. To which Tucker had responded with a very colorful way of calling Brett fat, ugly and expressed disgust on having to be near him. Later he had been told Tucker had just been having a really bad day, boyfriend left him or something, like that made it better.
One chair away from Brett was Rick Williams, Rick wasn't someone Brett would call a friend per se, he was more of an acquaintance, but he never gave Brett any trouble.
6 foot three, 200 some odd pounds, and a damn good basketball player Rick really wasn't anything that either annoyed or caught Brett's attention. However, he was often the object of Tucker's attention, much to Rick's own displeasure. Brett wasn't sure of the whole story; all he knew was Tucker liked black men and athletes and Rick was both.
It was interesting because Rick did not seem to know how to deal with Tucker's not-so-subtle advances, he was far too nice to just pop Tucker in the face, but it seemed like Tucker took Rick's flustered actions the wrong way. Anyone with half a brain could see Rick was about as straight as they came, but this WAS Tucker they were talking about after all.
Across the table and one up were the three cheerleaders. Trina, Kiki, and Britney. They were friendly with Tucker, and thus definitely not friends of Brett's. He really didn't pay much attention to them.
At the very end of the table was Brian, local punk who Brett couldn't even understand why he was in college. Or how he paid for it. He very rarely even showed up, and when he did he didn't do much. Technically, Brian was from down south, and he was totally a redneck, right down to the rebel flag on his hat.
Needless to say Brian did not get along with Tucker or Rick at all.
It didn't help the mud rakers mood that Tucker could totally beat him in a verbal joust any day of the week, and Rick just plain beat his ass. A strange kind of triangle had developed between the three, as Brian refused to refer to Tucker as anything other than faggot, to which Tucker would shoot back with a, yes cow fucker? Or, he who knocked his sister up?
Sooner or later Brian would lose his temper and stand up like he was going to do something. But when that happened, Rick, who hated bigotry period, would also stand up, and for whatever reason Brian was scared of Rick.
After that Tucker would sit there making doey -my hero- eyes at Rick for the rest of the day.
At first, Brett had thought Brian would just catch Tucker somewhere else, but now saw that that was not going to happen. Tucker was more than just a rich boy, his father was one of the top lawyers in the country and his uncle was mayor of their city, who had just so happened to have used his, my nephew, is gay so I understand spiel to swing more then a few votes his way.
Clearly, Brian was dumb, not stupid.
Finally, in the seat next to Brett, which was currently empty, usually sat Miles, who was running late. Miles, a cheerful and natural blonde, was probably the only person that Brett would call a friend, not a true friend, Miles and him really only interacted at class. So probably only a casual friend, but that's still counted nonetheless.
When Miles finally got there, they would start the usual agonizing note swap. Agonizing because none of them really got along with everyone, so why did they meet up every day?
Prof. Mary Bonnett.
An insufferable shrew of a woman, who each of them shared a class with. The woman was 50 plus years old and was seemingly convinced that every young person needed constant direction, and seemed to have some type of teamwork obsession. So to make sure they all did as she felt they should, she insisted on forming them into little groups herself, and to make sure they went whether they wanted to or not she would give each person only a portion of the notes they required.
Crazy bitch.
Not to mention her constant lectures on morals and how the glue of society was slowly decaying. Curiously, for all her love of teamwork, and desire for people to reach out. She seemed especially horrified at the very, very strong gay presence in their city. It didn't really bother Brett, but she was of course a good Christian woman on top of everything else.
He was just glad he wasn't on the same class schedule as Tucker and her. Their verbal wars were the stuff of legend on campus.
It pissed him off though, her in inane ramblings on subjects that had nothing to do with their class. Her class was not a religion and ethics class now was it? No, it was not.
It did not do much good to try and complain though, the school management was behind her all the way, most of them went to the same damned church as her, and none were too pleased with the homosexual threat that they perceived. But that was America now wasn't it?
Brett found it annoying, he was stuck in the middle anyway, he didn't give a damn about the religious fools, or the gay people. Both could be equally pushy when they wanted to be. It didn't concern him; he was neither religious nor gay.
He had thought about it of course, being with a man that was, he felt everyone did at one time, but never dwelled upon it. After only a few hours with Tucker every other day, he knew with a great deal of certainty that he did not want someone like that in his personal life. Plus, Tucker made sure to let him know how undesirable he was, besides Bret had a girlfriend, granted things were a little strained between them at the moment, but he did have one.
As for church... he had never cared for it, sure he believed, there had to be something out there after all. A God made just as much sense as the scientific theory of a bunch of crap blowing up. But truthfully, he had always felt a little silly sitting in church, and at times he would giggle. Not the best thing to do in church he discovered, it had always been a source of contention between him and his parents.
"Foster parents." Brett thought bitterly.
For some reason they had felt the need to drop that bomb on him on his 18th birthday. "Just felt you should know." His mother had said.
Actually, he had been perfectly happy not knowing, especially when his dad, who had never been all that warm to him, of course now Brett knew why... because he wasn't his real son, had knocked back more than a few drinks and told him that he had been found by a garbage man in a trash can.
Brett was not sure how true that was, his dad had been very drunk, and his mom had been screaming in the background the entire time. About an hour later, his mom had called back, she had apologized profusely, stating that dad had been under tremendous stress at work and was just taking it out on everyone. But she had not said that it wasn't true, and he had been far too afraid to ask.
It was bad enough to discover that they were not his blood parents... but to be told he had been thrown away to die? How was anyone supposed to deal with that?
He supposed he should have known that something might have been up. After all, they were both tall, blond hair and blue eyes, and he wasn't. He was 5 foot nine, dark hair and green eyes. But for some reason, he had never given it any thought.
What really hurt him was how they had begun treating him, now that they had told him their little secret. Miles had a stepfather, his real dad had died in a car accident years ago, and that man treated Miles like gold. So why was he so different?
It had been like that his whole life, even with his best childhood friends, sooner or later everyone just... changed. He didn't understand it at all, he was a good person, a good student, and didn't cause anyone any problems. So why? Why had the people who had raised him suddenly become distant and cold? They didn't call, they hardly ever returned his calls, and they did not even sign the Christmas card that they had sent him.
It hurt so much, and all he could think of was that now that he had moved out. They had decided they were done with him. It seemed impossible, yet what else could it be? They were no longer responsible for him, even if he carried their name. When he had been accepted to the school in the first place and found a place to live, they had promised some financial assistance, but at this point he wasn't holding his breath. If they could not even return a phone call. Then they damn sure were not going to send money for books.
"Maybe I ought to just change my name." Brett thought sadly.
The front door bell chimed and Brett turned his head towards the sound. A smiling, yet slightly out of breath Miles walked in. Brett smiled faintly, he really enjoyed Miles's company, and perhaps one day the other man would accept one of his invitations to visit.
Or maybe the poison inside of him would turn Miles against him.
Brett sighed and turned back in his chair, it had happened with disturbing regularity throughout the years... why stop now?
"All right, let's get this over with." Tucker lisped. "The sooner I can get away from Fug over here, the better."
"Shove it up your ass Tucker; I'm sure there's plenty of room by now." Brett shot back.
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Miles watched as everyone packed up, it had been their usual agonizing study session. Maybe even more so, Tucker had been just taking shot after shot at poor Brett. Miles had had to tell the pretty boy to shut it a record 18 times, it had probably been Brett's comment about Tucker's ass being loose that had provoked the bleach blonde. Personally Miles had thought it had been a pretty good counter, especially considering the fact that Brett usually just absorbed all of the barbs sent his way. But those were fighting words to Tucker, of course with Brett it was hard to tell if any thing Tucker said really bothered him.
To be honest he did not know what Tucker had against the brunette, Brett just seem to bring out the bitch in Tucker.
Just as Miles began to pull his coat on, he noticed that Brett had not even gotten up out of his chair yet, he was just sitting there, staring off into space. Miles felt guilty then, Brett always seem like he was so alone, an outcast even among outcasts. Which was weird because Brett really wasn't all that shy, he was quiet yes, once he knew it was okay to talk to you however. Then he was very friendly, perhaps desperately so.
It had been a lark, a little curious urge when he had first spoken to the quiet little brunette that sat in the back of the classroom. He really had not meant anything by it, but it had apparently meant something to Brett. After that Brett had always said hello to him, asked him how he was doing, and all of that. So Miles had ended up getting to know Brett a little bit, and found out that they actually had a few things in common.
So one day, once again, just on a whim, Miles had given Brett his phone number. He had not expected Brett to actually call him, but he had. Called him to ask if he wanted to get together and hang out, inviting him over to see his place, and stuff like that. It never got annoying, it was not like Brett called him all the time, maybe once or twice a month, and lately not even that. But Miles always found himself declining, it made him feel really guilty, but he couldn't seem to stop. It was just... there was something about Brett, Miles could really only stand to be close to him for an hour or two before he felt like screaming.
It was nothing Brett did, it was just... being close to him made Miles's skin crawl, like he had billions of ants swarming under his flesh. If Brett talked too long it actually made Miles's ears hurt, if he looked at Brett for too long his eyes would also start to bother him. Not only that he would find himself getting more and more agitated, and feeling mean.
He did not understand it, from a distance. He felt sorry for Brett and wanted to reach out to him. But once he actually did it would seriously make him start to feel sick and all he could think of was getting the hell away. It didn't make any sense, yet it happened every single time, even just sitting next to Brett at the study table for as long as he had had not been easy.
Miles was a spiritualist, he believed that every living thing, both animal and plant, had not only a life force within them, but with-out them, an aura if you will. He had always been very empathetic, been able to judge a person's mood just by being near them. Not just people either, but animals as well, be it a stray or his own pets.
From that he always got a really weird vibe from Brett, and he couldn't help but think that maybe something was wrong with Brett's... aura… silly as that sounded.
Whatever it was. It was powerful; usually he had to be touching a person to really feel the...spark within them. But with Brett...hell from 5 feet away he felt the tingles, he sometimes wondered if he wasn't the only one to feel it, and he really wanted to ask, but he didn't dare. He could not even picture asking Tucker or Brian such a question, and when he had explained his beliefs to Rick. The other guy had just become convinced he was doing voodoo or something. It was annoying, especially when Tucker called him a new age magician.
He still felt horrible for Brett, and angry with himself. If he could feel it...then maybe he could fix it. He had been blessed with the ability after all... so wasn't it almost like... his duty to help? He just wished he had someone he could ask, but both his parents were Jewish, and although they respected him enough to allow him his own beliefs, he also knew they got a little freaked out just by looking at his bookshelves. Still... maybe it might be worth mentioning, they had always been supportive, and his dad had even gone out and found one of the rarer books he had been looking for, for years and bought it for him.
Come to think of it, Miles recalled Bret mentioning some trouble with his own parents, he wasn't sure what it was but at least he could land an ear.
That settled it then, it was time to man up, and he knew just the place.
"Hey Brett." Miles called out. Brett turned in his chair to look back at Miles with a pair of worn out eyes. Miles had not noticed the dark circles under Brett's eyes earlier, but the poor guy looked like hell.
"Yeah?" Brett grunted. Here goes...
"Wanna hang out for a few?" Miles asked. "I was thinking about Zaz's." Brett's eyes lit up, and he grinned.
"Hell yeah."
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Zaz's, probably the biggest arcade multiplex in the USA. It was the perfect place to take Brett, because for one the man kicked ass at the arcade, and two it gave Miles a lot of ways to get some relief if he needed it.
Frank Downing was the owner, a hippie straight out of the 60s; he'd been at Woodstock and everything, had ended up winning a huge lottery about twenty years back. He probably wouldn't have ever started a business, if not for his son Zaz.
Zaz Downing had been big into videogames since the whole business had started, and it had always been his dream to open his own arcade. But drunk driver on a cold rainy night had ended all of that for him.
So Frank surprisingly, had taken it upon himself to make his son’s dream a reality. Frank, who had not known an arcade cabinet from a China Cabinet, and had barely ever even worked in his life, let alone run a business, had managed to turn the place into one of the most successful arcades during the late 70s, all of the 80s, and first half of the 90s.
Then home consoles had come and begin to take over, and the arcade business had all but died. A lot of people felt Frank should just have shut the place down, he had kept the dream running for over twenty years, but Frank had refused, perhaps out of the lingering memory of his son. Or maybe he had just grown to love the place.
So Zaz's had limped along, till finally Frank looked long and hard at the little company he had built, and took perhaps the biggest gamble of his life.
He got ruthless to the other businesses around him, expanded his location, added everything he could think of, and had turned his son's dream back into the powerhouse it had been simply by making it THE place to be. Zaz's had it all now, the arcade itself, a mini pizza place, and an authentic Chinese restaurant. A real bar, a few novelty shops, a three screen movie theater, and even a dance club at the other end.
Frank had bet it all, gambling on the fact that theirs was basically a college town, and all the kids would want somewhere to go.
It had paid off, everyone went there, not only for the various entertainment spots, but also for the best, and cheapest, home made pizza, burgers, and Chinese food in town. Not only that the aging Frank still roamed the place, with a smile, kind words, and a pocket full of tokens. In a bold move, Frank had had all the token machines modified so that instead of a token equaling a quarter. It now equaled a dime. Not only that, if Frank saw your game at a continue screen. He would just pop in a token for you.
In short... Zaz's rocked.
It was also the only place Miles could take Brett and not really be affected by him. There were plenty of excuses for him to walk away for a few moments.
Frank had installed Japanese-style arcade cabinets, so even if you were playing the same game. Instead of standing next to each other, each game had two stations, so you sat across from each other. Plus Brett played a mean game of Street fighter.
Which was why his Ken was standing victoriously over Miles's Bison, for about the twelfth time. Sighing Miles flopped back in the arcade seat.
"You are way too damn good at this." He groaned. Brett did not reply, he probably could not hear Miles over the thumping noise of the arcade. Glancing up at the screen he saw Brett's cursor over Vega, and he about screamed.
"Oh don't you even! Pick somebody you suck with for once!"
Brett laughed sadistically and switched over to Gen instead, which was even worse.
"Old man Frank is going to get rich off of me beating your ass!"
Miles smiled, Brett sounded like he was having a good time, and that was worth a couple of bucks...and humiliation.
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M iles groaned inwardly, things had been going pretty well, right until Brett suggested they grab some grub. Miles hadn't thought anything of it; Brett was offering to buy for him, which made it hard for Miles to say no. But now that they were sitting at the table, across from each other, it was starting to get to Miles. He could feel it already, the prickling sensation under his skin.
"What is this?" Miles thought. Why did he get such a feeling from Brett, and why could he feel it in the first place? He wanted to say something to Brett, he really did. But what could he say? What could he possibly say that wouldn't make Brett think he was nuts?
Hey man... I don't know if you know this, but you've got like... this fucked aura that makes me feel like I'm going crazy, and I don't really think I'm the only one.
Yeah, cause that made sense to say.
God... if only there was someone he could ask about this, someone that knew about things like this, but he didn't understand how he could sense the things that he could in the first place, it was like it was something out of a movie. Maybe if he went through his books he might find something?
"You're a good guy Miles." Brett suddenly said between bites of pizza. "No one else ever wants to hang out with me. I really appreciate it."
Miles's stomach dropped.
"Oh God... don't say shit like that. Not when all I want to do is scream for you to get the fuck away from me." Miles thought, out loud he said. "It's no problem man."
It was ridiculous, but Miles could actually feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat. He felt guilty, yet at the same time a little voice inside of him was screaming for him to get away.
Unnatural, that was how Brett felt to him, something you really did not want to get near. But why? Brett really didn't look very threatening; in fact... he was rather plain. He reminded Miles kind of like putty, with a little work he could go either way, either ugly or handsome, but as it stood. There was nothing that really stood out about Brett. Nothing that caught your attention and held it, if you saw him in a crowd your eyes could just pass right over him without a second thought.
"Hey... are you all right?" Brett asked. "You don't look so good." Miles almost sighed in relief, an opening.
"I need to use the bathroom." Miles lied. "Think I ate too much."
"You're not going to be sick are you?" Brett asked, making Miles feel even guiltier.
"Nah just gotta take the Browns to the Super Bowl." Miles replied. Brett chuckled.
"You’re gross."
With that Miles got up, leaving the food court in a big hurry. He supposed his excuse would cover it, if you really had to go he would be moving after all. Reaching the men's room Miles went right for the stall, slipping in he shut and locked the door.
He sat right down on the toilet, pants on, of course. The buzzing crawl under his skin had vanished, so did the frantic screaming in his head. He didn't understand this at all. He had always been confused as to why he could feel things and no one else seemed to be able to, but at least he had been able to find books on the subject. Granted most of them were useless, only a few authors had merit. But what was he supposed to ask about this? What was he going to do... Google it?
Miles sighed and laid his head in his hands. Bizarre and ridiculous is what this was.
He thought and thought and thought, but nothing came to him. At this rate he was going to have to ask his dad, they might not share the same faith, but his dad took the things he said, much more seriously than his mom.
Before Miles knew it. He had been in the bathroom for fifteen, twenty minutes, he was not totally sure. Popping up off of the toilet Miles exited the stall, and there was a rather disgruntled looking man standing outside who jumped right into the stall. Miles brushed him and his pissed off stare off without a second thought. So he had to wait a few…big deal.
Out of habit, he went over to the sink, and began to wash his hands. Once again, he found himself lost in thought. What ever was wrong with Brett it felt... unnatural, out of place. Could he infer from that, that it was not the way Brett should be?
It seemed logical, but then... when something went wrong in nature did it ever go wrong naturally? He felt way in over his head about this, and if he was not so sure about what he was feeling... then he would probably think he was crazy.
Miles realized he had been washing his hands for quite a while now, the cranky man in the stall had already left, and pulled away from his thoughts.
He needed to get back, he wasn't sure what he was going to do when he got there, but he had wasted enough time. Pulling away from the sink Miles turned towards the paper towel dispenser and pulled a couple out. As he dried his hands Miles felt a hand touch him on his shoulder, and a split second later it felt like someone had just jabbed him with a cattle prod.
Crying out Miles jerked away and whirled around. A somewhat startled, amused Brett was standing there.
"Don't do that!" Miles hissed. Brett smiled.
"Sorry to startle you, but I wanted to see if you were all right. You've been gone like half an hour."
God... this felt worse than ever before, his whole arm had gone numb.
"You didn't scare me, that fucking hurt!" Miles snapped. Brett blinked, obviously confused.
"But all I did was touch you..." Brett said innocently. "Is that your bad shoulder?" Well yes, it was but that wasn't the point.
Brett reached out again, perhaps to rub at Miles's shoulder in an apologetic gesture. But the moment Miles realized what Brett was about to do, he panicked. He slapped Brett's hand away, hard, getting another milder jolt before he backpedaled to the wall.
"Don't touch me!" Miles screamed, the rational part of his brain slipping into the background. If just one touch did that... who knew what else might happen to Miles. He was frightened, well and truly afraid for his well-being. If he couldn't think straight, he would have laughed, but he couldn't, so he didn't. "Just get away! Keep your freaky hands off of me!"
Brett recoiled, visibly hurt.
"F-F-F-Freak?" Brett gasped. "Freak!? What the fuck Miles?!"
Brett took a step toward Miles, and that little voice inside of his head went into overdrive, screaming "Get it away! Get it away!" His arm was numb, his hand tingling, his skin felt like it was about to crawl right off of his bones... he would not be surprised if he puked right now.
"Back off!" Miles snapped. "Just stay away, there something wrong with you!" Brett shook with anger, his eyes bubbling with hurt.
"I thought you were my friend..." Brett whispered. "But you're just like everyone else... what was this all about huh? Setting me up for some kind of prank? Asshole... fucking asshole!"
Brett spun on his heel and rushed out of the restroom. Almost immediately after he left Miles began to feel better, and with that he began to realize just what he had done.
"Oh shit..." Miles gasped. Had that really just happened? Had he just said all of that? How did he go from wanting to help Brett, to being terrified of him in a split second later? Miles rubbed at his shoulder... what was that? How did Brett do that just by touching him?
A wave of guilt crashed over Miles, he should not have done that, but he couldn't help it... it had just happened.
"Fuck." Miles spat. "Brett!" He called out as he rushed out after Brett. "Brett!"
People began to give him odd looks as he scanned the large crowd for the dark-haired man, but Brett was gone. Even if he was still in the building Brett had a way of just been swallowed up in a crowd.
"Fuck." Miles whispered.
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Mil es feet ached as he continued to walk home. It had long since gotten dark, he had not been able to catch up with Brett, and was ashamed that he did not actually know where Brett lived. He could have, and should have, taken the bus. But he was so pissed off at himself that he decided to walk.
He wished he had not; he had never walked home in the dark from as far as he had come, and he was half expecting to get jumped any moment now. He had gotten the feeling back in his arm, but it still felt all weird, but even factoring that in he could not believe how he had reacted. It was as if something had taken over him, he had almost felt like some Hollywood style monster had been standing in front of him.
But how could little Brett, who was at least 6 inches shorter than him, frightened him on such a primal level? And with just a simple touch? They had skipped some levels for sure, because he had gone from zero to holy shit panicked way too fast.
It made no sense, none of this made any sense. But hell, forget trying to find out how to help Brett, how the hell was he going to get Brett to even speak to him again?
Sighing, Miles stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was probably stupid of him to feel so responsible, he had only known Brett for a little over eight months, but he did feel responsible. Not only because of how he was raised, if you see someone who needs help you help them and all that jazz. But also because Brett was like him, he was different than everyone else. He had something inside of him that perhaps no one else did, but where as Miles so called gift had helped him in life, Brett's seem to hinder him.
"I can do this." Miles thought as he turned the corner, only one more street and he would be home.
Miles drew himself out of his thoughts just in time to hear heavy, shoeless sounding footsteps coming at him from his right. He turned his head to look just before large hand shot out of the dark alley and literally yanked him off of his feet and out of the light of the street.
Whoever it was slammed him against the wall of one of the nearby buildings, he kicked at his attacker... for all the good it did, the guy didn't even budge, and it felt like he was kicking rock.
"Let me go-mmph!" Miles screamed right before his assailant clamped a huge hand over his mouth. Suddenly the guy pressed his face into Miles upper chest and began... sniffing. What the hell?
Then the smell of the man hit Miles, and he nearly passed out from it. It was the worst mix of body odor and earthly filth he had ever smelled in his life. From behind the bastards hand Miles gagged, reaching out he got a big handful of the man's equally filthy hair and pulled as hard as he could.
Once again, the guy didn't even flinch; instead he just continued to sniff at Miles like a dog. He reached Miles's shoulder and seemed to hesitate, and then took a big sniff. An excited noise spilled out of his attacker’s mouth and Miles stomach dropped. What did he want?! Money? Miles didn't have much on him, why hadn't he said anything? Dear God... was this guy going to... rape him? Kill him?
"E'es here!" The man exclaimed. He raised his head up, and Miles found himself staring into the most bizarre eyes he had ever seen. The whites of his eyes were actually black, there was no pupil, and instead there was a green outline of a... star?
"Pentagram?" Miles thought, not qute….but it kinda looked reminded him of one, and that did not make any sense at all. How could a guy afford special contact lenses, but not bathe?
Unless of course he really was a demon of some sort
Miles began to struggle harder, he didn't believe in creatures from hell... but that didn't necessarily mean they did not exist.
His efforts were to no avail however, he could not even move the guy. The hand over his mouth lifted, and Miles sucked in a deep breath to scream for help. When the man's face pinched in closer, and Miles clamped his mouth shut, afraid the slime ball was going to bite him or kiss him or something.
He did not want any hobo rape.
"Where is e'e?" The man asked, his voice thick with an accent Miles had never heard. The guy was huge too, waaay bigger then even he was.
"W-What?" Miles stammered.
"Where is e'e?" The man repeated, firmer and a little angry.
"E?" Miles snapped. "What are you talking about? It's in the alphabet." The man growled and back hand slapped Miles in the stomach.
"E'e! Boy is e'e! Now where is e'e!?" The hobo giant snapped.
"He... you mean he." Miles said softly. It hadn't been a punch, but that had hurt. Then the man cocked his head to the side as if thinking.
"H-He... he..." the man muttered as if testing the word out before nodding. “Yays, he... where is he... tell me." His voice was calm and rather friendly all of a sudden, the anger gone. Mile squirming, he was not a small man; he was 6 foot four, and over 200 pounds. But this guy was holding him in the air with one hand!
"I... I don't know what you mean." Miles said. "Who is he?" Miles was really weirded out and worried now; this was a hell of a way to ask for directions.
"He touched you." The man insisted angrily. "Here." He squeezed Miles's shoulder hard enough to make him cry out. "He touched you. I can smell it." Smell it? The hell? This guy was obviously crazy, and why did he have to squeeze the shoulder that was already sore from Brett's... Brett... Brett had touched him there. But...
"I've been in crowds all day... a lot of people have touched me." Miles said, trying to stay calm, "A name would be useful if you want help." The rank man hung his head.
"Do not know name... but must find him." The man near sob. "Plays... plays help me. Been looking for so long..."
There was a deep sadness on the man, and he sounded heartbroken. Looking for a lost love one? Or just crazy? Still... he felt weird, and that weird feeling was familiar.
It felt like Brett, not as overpowering, or as frightening. His skin didn't crawl, though he could do without the smell. Was he looking for Brett? Were they connected somehow?
"I'd... I'd like to help." Miles said. "But I don't know who you are talking about." The man snarled, baring his teeth. His breath was as foul as the rest of him, maybe even worse. Miles wished it was not so dark; he could not really make out a face. If he got out of this, he certainly wanted something to give the police.
"Don't lie." The man said.
"I'm not." Miles insisted.
"Don't lie."
"I'm not."
"His scent is on you! Don't lie to me!" The man screamed in his face.
"I can't smell anything other than your rank ass! And a lot of people have touched me today!" Miles screamed back, his voice filled with fear.
"No. No. No." The man growled, pulling Miles back and shoving him against the brick wall with each no. "You must know something! You have to!" There was an edge of desperation in the man's voice, which only served to frighten Miles further.
"I don't have to know anything!" Miles shouted, hoping that someone would hear and come to help. "Now let me go!" Miles began to kick and punch at the man, again too little to no effect. The smelly hulk just pulled back and his arm was so long Miles could not reach him.
"Will hurt you, if not tell me." The man threatened. Miles was a loyal person, if this brute was indeed after Brett he could not just sic him on him. Yet at the same time he did not know if it really was Brett, plus he couldn't help even if it was and he wanted to. He did not know where Brett lived, let alone where he was right now.
"I don't know anything." Miles said.
"Will." The man growled, tightening his grip on Miles.
"I don't." Miles whispered.
"Will."
"I don't-"
"Will!" The man shouted and threw a punch at Miles's face. He flinched, closing his eyes. The sound of something hard breaking reached his ears and a split second later debris rained across his face. Shaking badly Miles slowly opened his eyes, and looked towards the brute’s fist.
It was buried up to the wrist in the wall.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!" Miles chanted in his mind.
"Will." The man snarled gravely, pushing his face and close to Miles’s own.
"I swear I don't know what you are talking about." Miles said meekly. It was the truth; he really didn't know what the fuck the freaky brute was talking about. Smelling him, something about looking, the guy was crazy, and certainly strong enough to hurt him.
He looked like he was about to say something else, but suddenly the alley was flooded with bright light, blinding the crap out of Miles. Squinting he spotted what might just have been the most beautiful sight in the world at that moment.
A police car.
One of them was standing behind the now open driver side door, the other still in the passenger's seat.
"What is going on over there?" Cop one asked.
"Oh, nothing much, just being held in the air by a freakishly strong, giant rank hobo." Miles thought, but was smart enough to yell "Oh God, help! Please!"
The cops seemed to grasp the situation and the driver reached for his side arm as his partner stepped out of the squad car.
"Alright, put him down and get on the ground with your hands behind your head and your ankles crossed!" Cop ordered.
"Reku authorities..." the giant growled as he dropped Miles, who landed painfully on his rear, and quickly crab walked towards the police.
"Put your hands behind your head and get on the ground now!“ Cop two repeated. Both of their weapons were now drawn, but the giant merely snorted and took off down the alley. Cop two went racing after him, and Miles heard a loud metal crunch as cop one helped him up.
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you." Miles whispered.
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Bre tt stared at the wall as he sat in the middle of his bed. He had wrapped himself up in his comforter, but he was still cold. Despite the name, it was not very comforting at the moment. But at least he had stopped crying...
He could not believe Miles had turned on him like that. Though he figured he shouldn't have been so surprise, everyone did sooner or later.
"Freak..." Brett whispered. How he hated that word, he heard it all the time... seemingly every day. Either spat in his face, or whispered behind his back.
Brett shivered, a fresh wave of emotion rolling over him. Didn't anyone care about him? Anyone at all? He wanted to call his parents, but he doubted they would even pick up. The only other numbers he had were for Miles and work, not exactly helpful. He really didn't have anyone did he? "Bastards." Brett muttered.
His gaze shifted over to the pill bottle on his table. With all of his sleeping problems lately he had ended up going to the doctor's, who had prescribed a rather powerful sleeping pill, nothing else had worked.
He was only supposed to take one a night. The bottle held sixty... five would kill a man, sixty should kill a hippo.
Brett sat there, staring at the bottle...
... and thought about it.
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I watched as the blond one was escorted from the authority’s vehicle to the door of a house. They went inside and I pulled back to avoid detection. Was this the blond one's home? It would be easy enough to locate once again. I knew where it was now.
He had my Master's scent on him, of that I am sure. A feeling that I had not had in so long was welling up in my chest.
Hope.
I had a lead, after so long I had a lead. If I follow the blond one there was a chance he might lead me to my Master. Perhaps they visited the same areas, I know not. But I do know that my Master has touched him and recently. I only wish I could have made myself clearer, but I still have so little to go on.
Why couldn't he just tell me? I know he knows something, he must.
Sigh... that is not entirely true, but... I must have hope that he does... otherwise I have nothing again. This city is large and I cannot be sure that this is where my Master truly dwells. Even if he does…What if he leaves again? Surely tailing the blond one will be more productive than just wandering the city. Please let it be...
He had revealed nothing despite my threat, though we were interrupted, so I must assume that he does not know... that he knows. I can see no reason he would lie to me... I had made myself quite clear that I would harm him
And I would have... yes, I would have even killed him if needed, as guilty as that makes me feel, my Master comes before everything else. He is far too important, morals or no... he must be found.
There is a part of me that cannot believe that I even have a lead. So long with nothing, it is hard not to get my hopes up.
I came to this place for no real reason; there was nothing that set it apart from everything else. I will admit I had little hope, and as such, I simply trudged through, enduring the stares and comments wordlessly. Yes I know I look strange, yes I know that I am dirty, yes I know that I smell foul. I enjoyed none of that. What I would not give for a bath... several, and to cleanse my teeth, the taste in my mouth is horrible.
I had covered a small part of the town, and was once again bemoaning the situation I find myself in. One person searching for one person, if anything there should have been a team.
But as I reached a strip of buildings I caught it. At first I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but there it was, ever so faintly, my Master's scent.
I was stunned, after all this time; to just stumble across did like that. I'm afraid I may have caused some property damage in my search to find the source, or in what direction it went. It took me the better part of two hours, but I managed to track it to a very strange building. It was very large, full of machines that flashed and made noise, and there were so many people. But the scent was stronger there, if Master was there however. I could not find him and the other people inside were not kind to me at all.
He had been there, that I knew, and left, that I guessed. Out of sheer luck I had picked up a faint trail, it led me far away from the building with all the lights... and then I lost it. I wanted to scream then, so full of desperate panic that I could have cried. But as if willing to aid me the wind shifted, and I found it once more. It led me down the alley... and then I saw the blond one.
At first I thought he might have actually been my Master, but the scent was not strong enough. So I felt the need to question him... perhaps a little overzealously. But it matters not now. I have hope.
Follow the blond, find my Master.
I can only pray it will work.
To be continued.