Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ some kind of bliss ❯ Tenderness ( Chapter 6 )

See Chapter One for blah blah blah blah.

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When it came it was laughter. It issued from somewhere D could neither see nor place, not quite behind him, but out of liquid shadow, sweet and low and the sickening echo of his own - although, right at this moment, he was far from laughing. The air felt heavy on his face.

D sat facing the door through which Leon had left, not the one into the back of the shop, and sensed no movement in the darkness, but he became suddenly aware that he was no longer alone in the room. And then beneath the bubbling laughter there came another sound, a sound that was barely real, at first. It crept gradually into hearing, surrounding him, soft and insinuating. A sound like the rustling of leaves.

He did not blink. A second, perhaps two, passed and felt slower than drowning.

Abruptly, the rustling noise, and the laughter, stopped.

"Well, well, well. And when did you become one of the great humanists?"

It was not the fact that the voice sounded so much like D's own that made him struggle to hold back a shiver; he had been expecting that, in part. It was more the mild, amused quietness of it, its plainness. He could simply have been talking to himself. This room, with its incense-thick air and heavy draperies, kept sounds muffled, subdued. It was relaxing, generally. D enjoyed quiet. Just now, though, for some reason, he had found himself expecting echoes.

The rustling noise, again. D realised it sounded a little like the swish of silk that accompanied his own movements when he was wearing a particularly heavy cheongsam. And then something that could have been footsteps.

"What? Cat got your tongue?"

D closed his eyes. His folded hands tightened around one another, and he exhaled slowly. This, it appeared, was going to be difficult.

It was not only the voice itself that sounded like his own, but the words, the teasing tone -- the very things that meant others often found D, and all his kind, so impossible to deal with. Whatever this creature was, it had learned its part well. The thought, and the inevitable question that followed it -- from whom? -- did nothing to dispel the cold feeling in his chest.

It was another moment before D found his voice. He himself often reacted to directness with amusement. It always seemed so indelicate, so blundering, spoke so clearly of human clumsiness. On the other hand, playing along with the verbal games of his kind, and those like them, was always folly. Perhaps being forthright would be the best policy. Assuming, of course, that there was going to be any best policy.

He took another deep breath. "What are you?" he asked evenly.

Predictably, the question was answered with another soft laugh.

"Why don't you take a look?" the voice suggested. "I'm just behind you."

"I… do not think that will be necessary." For a moment, D almost found himself smiling. "Thank you." And then he allowed the grim edge to return to his voice. "I am sure you know quite well what I mean."

"Mmm." The syllable held neither agreement nor dissent; it hung equivocally in the dark for a second before the smoky air swallowed it.

Footsteps again. It sounded as though the… creature… was -- not exactly pacing; the steps were too measured, not quick enough for that -- but strolling around the room calmly, unhurriedly. Rather as though it were at home.

For a good few moments, there was no reply, just the sound of those slow footfalls crossing from one side of the room to the other, and back, and then back again. They stopped, at last, at the table where D kept his photographs. There was the sound of one being picked up.

"Your grandfather, I suppose?"

"Yes." There was no need to look for D to know which picture that was - the same one Leon had commented on before, no doubt. This time, he found himself gritting his teeth at the evasive turn of conversation, the light, mocking tone that was all too familiar and, he could not help but suspect, all too accurate. Goodness. He did hope he was not really this irritating.

"Ah, but of course. You're all most alike."

At that, D went still. The cool dread he had felt lodged inside his chest began to spread, a slow shiver crawling out over his skin in a barely-felt, chill caress. Goosebumps started to form on the back of his neck.

"All?" he enquired steadily, at last, fingernails digging into his hands with the effort it took to keep the edge -- and the slight tremble -- out of his voice.

"Well, of course." There was a short pause, and D did not need to see the amused raise of eyebrows. "Exactly where else would I have come from?"

A slow sigh escaped him. D had dismissed the idea of this creature's being something to do with his father, at first; it had seemed too simple, he supposed, too ridiculously obvious. Even now, having heard it, he couldn't say it was entirely surprising. Only -- and this was the bewildering thing, the thing that really made the warm air feel cold -- what could his father have wanted with Leon?

"He is rather handsome."

D started. It was almost as though the creature had read his mind. The notion, of course, was ridiculous, but his unease heightened a little anyway.

"I must say, I was disappointed that you didn't let me have him," it went on. There was another pause that felt like a smile. "You know, I really would have been the easy way out…"

The creature let the sentence hang, and again, D felt the breath catch in his throat. His shoulders, his hands, his whole body tensed, and there was a sharp little stinging sensation on the back of his hands. He opened his eyes, looked down, and realised that his nails had broken the skin there. Tiny beads of black-red blood pooled in one of the little crescent-shaped dents. He stared at it for a second, as though doing so might somehow lessen the nightmarish strangeness of the situation. At least he could be certain that that was real.

Because this, surely, could not be. The creature had sounded so knowing, so certain - as though there were a revelation on the way. D did not take kindly to revelations. He had experienced few of them in his life, presumably because there was little he did not already know, but when they came they were rarely pleasant.

It was worse, of course, for humans. He had seen it so many times. It was often worst of all when the revelation was not really a revelation at all, but something that they already knew, and could simply ignore no longer, however much they wished to.

D realised that he was feeling faintly nauseated.

When he found his voice again, it was frosty. "I do beg your pardon," he said, "I am not entirely sure I take your meaning. The easy way out… of what?"

A low, liquid chuckle. "Oh, please. Look at you. Valuing human life all of a sudden? Doing the right thing? Protecting him?" Another laugh, and this time D could have sworn it was almost a snigger. "But you didn't do it because it was the right thing, did you?" And then the creature's tone changed. "It's a pity, really." What sounded like a shrug. "I suppose I shall die now. But then -- " The voice rose a sardonic notch. " -- I suppose that's what one gets for standing in the way of true love."

D's mouth fell open, but this time it mattered little that the creature interrupted him before he could speak, since he was lost for words anyway.

"And I do hope you're not going to beg my pardon for that one."

Foosteps. He felt the creature move nearer, the swish of silk so close he could almost feel its softness.

"He does, you know." The words could have been spoken at his shoulder, and D started at the nearness of the sound even as he remembered he should have been expecting it. "Even if he doesn't know it yet." The voice dropped a note, grew rich and soft as the incense-thick air. Its tone was conspiratorial, its intimacy chilling. "Love you, that is."

The words dropped into the warm air clearly as raindrops, and D felt quite suddenly that he had looked down to find the earth stolen from beneath his feet.

He heard a short, harsh gasp, and it was a second before he realised that it had come from his own mouth. It had not sounded like him at all. And the creature's voice did not relent.

"Well, that's why he created me, of course. Your… dear father. I took rather a lot of work, apparently. You've no idea how many experiments went wrong before I turned out right. And now you've gone and spoiled it, anyway. You were supposed to give me to him. Or him to me, whichever way you want to put it. And then that human and his little infatuation would have been gone, finished with. Out of your way." The voice stopped for a second, a little hesitation that sounded just perfectly rehearsed. "At least, that was all your father said to me. Although if half of what he said about you was true, I've really no idea why he'd want to… help you."

The thought had occurred to D already, of course, and the certainty that, whatever his father had wished to do, it was not to help him was quick to follow. But this was nothing to that other little piece of news, if news it were. He does, you know... Love you, that is. For how could this be true? And how, if it were, could this… creature… presume to know?

"Well, he could see it, you know," the voice murmured in his ear. "And I must admit, it is rather obvious. You haven't denied it yet, either."

Knowing, now, where it had come from, D was certain the creature could not know what he was thinking. It would have been told what to say; his father must, he thought grimly, be rather more able to predict him than he had realised. The chill he had first felt at having his thoughts answered did not fade, however. He supposed this must be how Leon felt, sometimes.

"But anyway, well done." The sarcasm dripped like honey. Rather unsubtle, D could not help noting, frozen still as he was. Not that his father had ever been much of a one for subtlety. "You've saved your human. Maybe now you'll get to live happily ever after… or, well, as long as he manages to stick around, throwing himself in front of bullets all the time like that."

D shuddered, and his eyes drifted closed again. He must stop this.

"No more," he commanded, and was vaguely surprised at the anguished crack of his voice. The creature laughed.

"I suppose that's why you haven't admitted it, isn't it? You know it's folly, falling for… mortals. Even if he ever does manage to get over that all-American college-boy pride and admit he loves you, you'll have him for -- what? half a minute? -- in your lifetime. And then eternity without him. It seems like a rather harsh deal to me." Its breath was warm as summer wind on the back of his neck. It smelled sweet, like the blanketing incense, like the pet shop, like him. D kept his eyes closed. He was not sure he could bear to open them. "But who knows? Maybe it is better to have loved and lost. I wouldn't want to find out, but…" The voice dropped lower, grew richer, and the sound whispered against his skin. "Well, you love him too, don't you?"

D opened his mouth to deny it, and the words stuck in his throat. Could he deny it? Could he deny any of it?

He had never stopped to consider it, it was true. Perhaps he had wondered, briefly; perhaps there had been a faint suspicion in the back of his mind that what he felt for Leon was more than the simple fondness he held for all lower species, for all his pets - but he had always dismissed the idea as nonsense as soon as it occurred. Of course, he had never pretended that the young human did not hold a certain… attractiveness for him, that he did not feel a slight thrill whenever Leon manhandled him or grabbed at his clothes. But it had been no more than simple amusement. A game, like teasing a pet with a toy on a piece of string. Not… love.

When he had realised the creature was meant for Leon, his heart had leapt into his throat, and he had known fear. That he could not deny.

D's eyes snapped open, and then he was springing to his feet. He span round to face the creature, at last -- and saw nothing. He blinked.

"Anyway, I suppose I should be leaving," the voice drawled, behind him. "Reporting back -- mission not accomplished, and so on."

Then there were hands at his waist, long fingers plucking at the silk of his cheongsam, brushing lightly, almost tenderly, at his sides. The touch was light as butterfly wings, and almost as heart-tearing.

And suddenly, the room seemed different, the darkness thicker again, weightier, like smoke. It was more than a little like that vision he had had earlier, when he'd seen darkness curl up from the corners of the room, curl up around Leon, reach for him like snatching hands --

Cool arms snaked round him, settled, gently, round his waist. His breath caught, but he did not look down. He did not have to see the long, delicate fingers, the silken sleeves, the gleaming nails.

The darkness curling its tendrils up towards Leon, to take Leon away from him -- Leon, who --

"Sweet dreams," whispered the voice, against the back of his neck. It felt like a kiss.

Did Leon? Really -- ?

The arms around his waist tightened, quite suddenly, and he could not draw breath. The darkness seemed to crawl towards him, and the room swam.

And did he -- ?

D tried to gasp; there was no air in the room. He should break away, he realised -- it would not be difficult; whatever this creature was, however it had been created, it could not be stronger than he. But somehow he could not move, could do nothing but blink at the air in front of him, rooted to the spot like a plant.

Black crept into the edges of his vision. The dark was swarming round him now, almost solid, touchable. It felt soft.

No -- he must get free, he must breathe, he must stop this. He must deal with this creature -- must find out what on the Earth his father was doing -- must warn --

The last thing D thought of before he passed out was Leon. And then he sank down, down into unconsciousness, and strange, bright dreams where serpents and violet-eyed foxes crawled over his still form beneath a chalky moon.

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