Everywhere now reminding me I am not who I used to be. I'm afraid this has just begun. Consequences for what I've done.

I keep thinking that if I don't open my eyes, I'll be OK. The smells, sounds, feelings...why should I open my eyes and add horror to yet another sense? Masochist. Always the masochist.

I force my eyelids open to no surprising sight.

The same concrete walls, the rusted bed frame in the corner. Shackles hanging from various spots around the room. The floor, its color indistinguishable save for the smears and stains of blood. My blood, of course. I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself, as if physically attempting to hold in the terror that creeps from my pores. At least I'm alone. Or am I? The steel table that normally holds an array of blood letting and similar items of torture is covered with a thick sheet. The shapes that tent the fabric hint to a vaguely humanoid shape underneath. I look away, shaking my head. Nope. No reason to look under there. In fact, why don't I just turn my gaze from everything but the door. I know it's heavy, locked, and impossible to budge when I was, what I was...before. I'm stronger now. I cross the room with a bravery I don't actually feel.

Again, no surprise when the door swings open before me. The surprise is who is on the other side.

"Tommy!" The priest strides into the room, alleviating only the most minuscule amount of fear. His expression is severe, unsmiling. He sets his eyes on the shape on the table, and then to myself. I shrink away until his lips turn up into the horrifying mockery of a smile that I'm used to. He gestures me forward, into his embrace. I comply despite my misgivings. His cold lips press against my forehead, and I'm almost comforted until I hear the slam and click of the door being pushed shut. I glance up, hoping my fear isn't as obvious as I think.
"No, Tommy, you don't understand. We need to get out of here. If He comes here..."
Tommy presses a finger to my lips. "Shh, Madelyn. We have work to do."
I blink, confused and wary. He pushes me away, stepping towards the table. Without knowing why, I shout "Don't!" 

He pulls the sheet off in a cloud of dust and exposes the being beneath. She appears to be about seventeen. She's tall enough so that her feet dangle slightly off the table, her athletic frame is chained to the cold steel. Her soft brown hair frames rounded features. A light fringe of bangs fall above bright green eyes, held wide open despite the body's inertness. The sight of her sends a shock wave through me, and I back up until the back of my knees hit the dirty mattress. I don't have to study the body to know little features such as chewed finger nails, and a small scar above the top lip. Tommy caresses the girl's face almost affectionately.
"I've found her, Madelyn. The perfect body for you." He looks to me. Smiles. "I told you I would bring you back."
My hands grasp at my sides, seeking the comfort of my knife, my notebook, my iPod...anything. Instead, I clench them into empty fists.
"I'm not dead. I...how did you find her? She's been hidden..."Tommy ignores the sputtered questions, gazing at my bound doppelganger. He seems displeased, even as the girl turns her head to him, expression showing the inquiry that I previously voiced.
"No, no. She isn't right. She isn't ready. Not yet." He glances around the room, contemplating the surroundings. He nods to himself, and begins unchaining the body. I only watch, unsure or unwilling to approach or intervene. When the body is released, the brown haired girl sits up, sliding off the side of the table and falling into Tommy's arms. Her face is all trust and innocence. He seems pleased, as he leads her over to a pair of hanging shackles. I want to call out to tell her to run, but I fear her fate will become mine. I bury my head in my hands as Tommy wraps the cuffs around her wrists. Falling onto the bed, I mumble to myself, trying to ignore my environment in hopes that it will prove to be just another delusion.

The abrupt sound of a sharp, metallic snap brings my attention forefront once more. The Necromancer, my friend, my lover...he stands before my hanging twin. The wooden handle, the nine silvery strips of cord, they're all so familiar. The thin wound seeping blood from the girl's back is familiar, as well. He hits her again and I jump from the bed, a shout of objection on my lips. Tommy turns to me, his face and his collar already speckled with minute traces of blood. His face is a snarl as he points to me with the hand not clutching the whip.
"Madelyn Alexis DeWittier, move no closer."
I'm halted in place, his will forcing me into immobility. No. No. He can't do this. HE CAN'T DO THIS. He smiles, pleased once more. "We must make her perfect. He scars must match yours. Your beautiful scars." His arm rises and falls, tearing strips of skin from the girl. Not a sound escapes from her lips. My maker would be so proud. With each blow, the stripes on my own back sting and tingle. With each blow, the smell of blood grows stronger. I watch the silent torture, meted out by the man who I deluded myself into trusting. The priest pants with exertion, a fine mist of sweat beading on his forehead. Abruptly, he tosses the blood stained whip onto the floor. "Close," he mutters. "Not quite ready, yet."

I want to shrink away from him as he approaches. His once handsome face is stippled with her blood, his eyes are dead and empty. He places a hand at my hip, running his fingers down my thigh and calf to grip the hilt of the knife sticking out of my boot. Pulling the blade out, he places a frigid kiss on my unresponsive lips. I taste myself in her blood. His absence is no more comforting then his presence, as he walks back towards his hanging victim. Facing the girl, he grazes the flat side of the knife against her face. She leans into the blade, as if it's a caressing hand. I'm frozen, whether in terror or compulsion, as his trails the blade in a familiar path down her body. With his free hand, he lifts the hem of her skirt. With the hand gripped around my blade, he draws the knife point up her now exposed thigh. He looks to me, his face melding into the one I've expected all along.
"She has to have ALL of your scars, monster."
He begins cutting and I begin shrieking and

I wake up in the bathtub, scream still ripping from my throat. I toss my clean, but nonetheless unwelcome knife across the room, where it clatters onto the porcelain. Pulling my notebook and iPod to my chest, I clench my eyes shut against anything that may want to creep from them, and for the third time this week, await the sound of Tybalt's concerned entrance.

Poison to everything I touch. The things I've done, so ruinous.

It's raining again, or maybe it never stopped. Either way, I pull my hood over my hair and stomp away from Tybalt's mansion. I feel weak. Used up. Lets not pretend that I don't know why. I fade from view as I make my way towards the more populated part of the city. Not bothering to look up from my feet, I follow my nose, and the smell of fresh, rich, flowing blood. A shudder goes down my spine, as the scent grows stronger. I hear them. Cars full of tired Kine coming home from their night shift jobs. Wayward teenagers, prowling the streets like they own the night. I chew at my lip, near famished, creating a bloodless wound in the soft flesh. Even hidden from their sight, the humans seem to unconsciously shrink away from something monstrous that stalks among them. At that, I'm torn between glee and sorrow.

I turn my head towards an ambrosial smell, my mouth practically watering. A couple is exiting some high end restaurant, and for a moment I'm perplexed by my ravenousness. Then I see it. Nestled, sleeping in daddy's arms. All cherubic curls, tiny sneakers, and Osh Kosh B'fucking Gosh. The purest, sweetest manifestation of innocence. Every bit of what am I focuses on the child, every voice is silenced, every bit of misery is culled. I see the couple approach their car with my coveted treasure. What to do. What to do. I have to be careful, any sloppiness will certainly come back to plague me. I tear my attention from the child, focusing on each adult in turn. With little effort, I prod and tweak around in their minds, dulling their emotions into a colorless glob of nothing. The woman opens the car door and plops into the seat, not bothering to close it behind her. The man opens the back door to place the child in a car seat, and I approach. He glances up at me, stepping an inch back and knocking into the side of the car. His expression can only be described as a calm terror. I stifle a snicker and speak directly into his thoughts. "Give me that." I point a gloved hand to the still sleeping child. He falters slightly, and my lip lifts into a hungry snarl. With a shaking grasp, he hands the child to me, almost appearing relieved once it passes from his possession, to my own. I take a few steps back, clutching the sleeping parcel, and fading from his sight. I only watch a moment, as he shrugs slightly and leans against the car door.

The smell of sweet blood overpowers my thoughts, and I have to take off running at an impossible speed, just to keep from tearing my meal...and the masquerade... to shreds. I cut through a neighborhood, following my senses to an empty, abandoned house. Several thick boards block the back entrance. I pull them off, one handed, jostling the child enough so that it starts to stir. Small sounds of fear and disgruntlement begin to come from the warm mass in my arms, and my mouth drops open in hunger. So young. So innocent. Memories of the young children my maker brought me to feed on flash through my head. For once, they do nothing to dissuade me. If anything the visions entice me further. I wrap my hands around the warm bundle, holding it to my chest. It's tiny features are ambiguous to me. The child is almost unnoticeable as a living being. It's nourishment. A vessel of pure, untainted sustenance. I bring the bundle to my face, inhaling the fresh aroma of it's flesh. The sweet nectar issuing unrestrained through tiny veins. My lips meet the smooth, unflawed texture of it's skin, and my teeth are in the small throat before my fangs even fully elongate. The saccharine liquid flows unbridled into my mouth and down my gullet. The small body empties within minutes but the time trips longer through the throes of my ecstasy.  When the veins finally run dry I toss the drained corpse into onto the dirty carpet. Not a drop wasted. 

I wander the empty house, my head almost buzzing with the silence and satisfaction. Every fear and delusion is a far whisper, barely even a tickle in my consciousness. Barely even a muted groan. I glance over the walls, reading graffiti-ed messages so fresh I can smell the flavor of the Kine that wrote them. I'm fine and full and happy until my green eyed gaze passes over the cracked, yet reflective surface of a darkened window.

And I see her. The ragged, unkempt clothing, hanging off a skeletal frame. Ribs laid open and bloodless from a gender-less chest. Matted clots of pink hair surround a dark gaping maw of nothingness where my face should be. There's a strangled howling of a sick animal nearby. The pained keening of a fox with it's paw in a trap. I want to turn to see what it is, but I'm stricken by the horrific reflection that stares me down without sight. "Who are you," I cry, but the mocking response from the window answers my question. That wailing again, answering another question as I fall to my knees. "Real, or not real? Real, or not real? Real, or not real?!" As I pray, I pull my K-bar from it's spot in my boot. I drag the blade against my cheek, my chin, my forehead. I want to fix what I saw. "Real, or not real?"

It hurts, I bleed, I plead.
"Mongrel. Tommy. Tybalt. Pyotr. Law. Dad. Master. Anyone."

"Help."

Fading, falling, lost in forever. Will I find a way to keep it together? Am I strong enough to last through the weather in the hurricane of my life?

In the lull at Elysium, unnoticed by the other Camarilla members, I Obfuscate and slip from the building. Despite the lack of devastating events, I need to get away. Reappearing a few blocks down, I climb into my unlocked, piece of shit Jetta. The old car still smells of mildew and shows signs of disuse. Starting the engine, the Genesis CD in the console starts playing and brings me a modicum of comfort. Pulling my notebook from the back of my skirt, I lean back in the seat and spread it open on my lap. My brow furrowed, I scrawl a few notes into it. My hand shakes slightly as I cross a few things out. I should be happy for a few spots of clarity, but no. I was really hoping some of this stuff wasn't real. Closing the notebook and turning up the radio, I pull from my spot and make my way home.

It's only after I reach the entrance to the winding road that leads to the house, that I remember Tybalt's offer. The woods loom ahead of me, and flashing back to the last time I rode up here after an Elysium, my hands begin shaking on the steering wheel. No. No, that didn't happen. If I did, I wouldn't be here, and I am. Knowing I should just turn around and head straight to Tybalt's manor, I press down on the gas and head up the road anyway. The windshield wipers squeak back and forth, barely clearing the rain from the glass. My eyes similarly tick back and forth, my senses alert to anyone or anything following me. I reach the paved driveway in front of the house and turn off the car. I'm alone out here, I know it. And yet. My hand freezes on the door handle. I can't bring myself to open it. My quiet whimper is heard over the tap of rain on the hood. What if? What if it's the same, all over again? I lift the handle, and halfheartedly push the door open. Nothing happens, so I step out. Holding the door open like a shield, I breathe in deeply. I smell nothing but the stink of my own fear. There's no one out here. Nothing attacks me.

With a strangled sob, I plop into the dirt next to the car. Leaning against the open door, I curl my knees to my chest and squeeze them. "Real, or not real? Real, or not real?" The words quickly become a mantra, as my clothes and hair steadily become more soaked by the rain. Part of me is tempted to call out to Tybalt's mind, but I keep my thoughts reigned in. He doesn't need this. 

I sit in the dirt I died on. The spot I was killed. Nothing happens. Did anything ever?

I reach behind me, into the car, and grab my notebook. Hunching over the pages to protect it from the rain, I write the nights activity, the people I met...anything I can before the lines of reality begin to blur.
Call me Al. Who?                                  Sabbat in the sewer.
             Sailix: Manservant. Assamite. Gay?                     Art: Toreador. Nice. Warm.
Cally: Nos. Prince(cess?)Nice.                Grendel: Nos. Really Nos. Likes rats. Nice.
                                Michael: Gangrel. Sheriff. Tybalt's friend. Impetuous. 
Got to keep my knife.              Scourge. Rictus, too.       Iskander: Assamite. Nosy. Primogen.
                                     Scum dude: Famous. Masquerade breachy? Gay?
Did that one guy hit on me?
I scrawl a sketch of a tire and try to ignore the shaking in my hand. The pencil snaps in my grasp, and I squeeze the splinters of wood into my flesh.

Dropping the shards of pencil in the mud, I force myself to my feet and slide into the driver's side once more. I almost expect to see my chainsaw sitting chummily close on the passenger seat, but no. I start the car, and without thinking too hard about it, head down the driveway. Tybalt will take care of me. He'll keep me safe. I hear an all too familiar chuckle and my foot reflexively hits the brake, the car skidding and mud splashing onto the side window. "No. No, no, no. Not you. Not real." I continue driving, only just managing to ignore the voice that hisses dissent in my thoughts, telling me that Tybalt will abandon me just like Mongrel, or worse, he'll end up delusional and dangerous like Tommy. When I finally pull in front of the sprawling manor, I only spend a minimal amount of time to plaster an attempt at a natural smile on my face, before joining my Lasombra friend in his home.

I hope someday you wake up from the terrible dream of watching one of your kindred fall. It takes a lot of dust and grind, to leave the world you love behind.

The rain is coming down hard enough to bend the leaves and branches. I sit on the porch steps, my feet hanging off just far enough to be spattered with drops. Inhaling through my nose, I smell nothing but wet soil, the woods are devoid of life. Well, except the life sitting here on these splintering wood stairs. Pulling my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, I lay my head on my knees, squeezing my eyes shut.
I'm alive. Real, or not real?
Lifting my head slightly, I peer through the pink fringe of bangs at the white Jetta moldering in the driveway. The door still hangs open on rusty hinges.
I died there, didn't I? Did I? 
I remember stepping out of the car, oblivious to the danger until it was too late. Two, three, four Sabbat attacking me. I don't remember. I don't remember. I remember dirt and darkness. I remember the gray, lifeless landscape of the Shadowlands. That guy, the smart ass that told me where I was. I remember being in the dark. I remember burying myself.

I pull my feet up and out of the rain. According to my new buddy Alex, it's less than a week before the city's Elysium. Chewing my nails, I try to remember Alex's face. He was real, right? My brow creases with the attempt to discern the difference between delusion and reality. I stop chewing my nails when I notice the trickles of blood coming from the masticated flesh of my fingertips. There. I'm bleeding again. That's certainly real. I stare at the seeping red fluid. "But, Tommy said..." No. No. There's my mistake again. Tommy is just as fucking crazy as I am. I chew my lip. Isn't he?

Sighing, I wipe my bloody hand on my hoodie and pull a tattered notebook from under my seat on the steps. The paper is full of my own scrawled handwriting. I turn to a page with Tommy's name on it. The notes are as scattered at my thoughts.

Tommy will bring me back from the dead Not real.                    He cares. Real, or not real?
Killed Pyotr. Real.                                He ate Pyotr. Not real.
He wants to hurt me. Real, or not real?                      Made me hurt Mongrel. Real, or not real?
Crazy. Real.               The God thing. Not real.             Lover? Consensual, or not consensual.
The barbed wire. Not real.                      Stronger than Franco. Real, or not real.

I close the notebook, and my eyes, This was supposed to help, but it doesn't. I place my hand in my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the outdated iPod that I cling to like a godamned life preserver. What the fuck am I going to do in Baltimore. What the fuck CAN I do, except get myself killed. Actually killed. Staring out into the rain, I've no desire to move from this spot. The house at my back holds nothing for me, anymore. The few things that meant something have inexplicably disappeared, if they ever existed at all. My news clippings, my skates. The blank scraps of paper torn from a sketchbook that still hold that haunting cinnamon/clove smell. The sound of the rain doesn't quite mask the quietly pained whimper that escapes my lips. Resting my head on my knees once more, I link my hands together behind my neck and force my thoughts out until my senses tell me the sun will rise soon. Even though there's more than enough time to dawdle, I pick up my notebook and zip into the house in a blur of motion. None of the lights are on, but I know where I'm going. My footfalls echo in the mostly empty room, as I close the door behind me. Climbing into the cold, porcelain bathtub, I pull my hood over my head. Double and triple checking my pocket for the iPod, I pull my K-bar from my boot. Curling into a ball with my notebook under one arm, and my knife clenched in hand, I close my eyes and wait for the days sleep to pull me under.

https://youtu.be/CwJpa1J3nRs?list=PLK8WUhlDQgCYbLNLbABOu2gj7Aapy4O7y

Feeling freezes so I know it must be time to leave you, dear. Everything's warm when your heart grows cold.

May of 1973.

"Madelyn, I love you."
The three words seem to echo around the room several times before settling into my psyche. When they do, I extract myself out of Law's embrace. "...what?!" I spit out, taking another step back.
"I said, I lo..."
Almost slipping into my defensive crouch, I hastily interrupt the Gangrel when he starts to speak again. "No, Law. I heard what you said, I just, what the fuck?!"
He laughs tentatively at my sputtered outburst, the laugh trailing off as he reads my expression. "This shouldn't come as a surprise darlin'. After all, why else would I put up with your, well..." A glance at the boarded up window. Broken just a night or two ago during one of my episodes. 
"Maybe I figured you were a masochist." He attempts to step closer to me, possibly to pull me back into his arms. "Or a moron." He only just manages to mask the hurt expression that wants to show when I retreat back, creating more distance between us. Those three words keep bouncing around my already frazzled skull, and I have to shake my head in a failed attempt to clear it. "Law, you must be out of your fucking mind."
His aura churns sickly as he replies, voice laced with bitterness. "That would make it easier, wouldn't it? Easier for you. Then you wouldn't have to come to terms with the fact that you're not really the monster that you claim to be."
I flinch a bit at his words. "This isn't a good decision for you."
He scoffs. "Decision? Darlin', love isn't a god damned decision. Even you should realize that, as skewed as your sense of reality is."
That twangs at a nerve. "Gee, thanks Law." I spit out, angrily.
He sighs, holding his hands out in supplication. "Mad, look, let's not start flinging insults at each other. I don't expect you to reciprocate. You know I'd never push you into anything." His eyes settle on mine. "It's just something I wanted to.." he gestures with a hand. "..articulate. Nothing has to change." 

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to continue looking at Law. His sincerity seeps into my thoughts, triggering the gag reflex of my emotions. No way. My eyes snap open, and settle on the Gangrel. He perches on the side of worn couch, his expression concerned. "Y'alright, Mad?" 
I shake my head, pinching my lips shut against any words that could incriminate me. Taking a few jerky steps out of the room, I'm unsurprised to hear Law's footsteps following. Without turning around to acknowledge him, I lurch over to my boots laying by the door, and in one swift movement, step into them and zipper them up. It's then that he reaches out to grasp my shoulder. For the first time in many months, I flinch away from him. I don't see the wounded look on his face, just as he misses my own stricken expression. His hand pulls away. "You're not running off, are you?"
I turn to face him, attempting to keep my face placid. "I just need to...go for a little bit. Go for a walk or," I shrug, stiffly.
He still looks worried. "You know I didn't mean to.."
I cut him off with a wave of my hand, speaking more calmly than I feel. "I'll be back, Law." My eyes flick down, just for a moment, betraying the honesty I try to convey. I reach out, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "I'll be back." I hold his gaze this time, and he seems placated. Dropping his hand, I turn and fling myself out the door, into the dark and damp, wishing to get far from his benevolent gaze.

I'm almost proud of myself. I manage to make it several miles from the house, before collapsing on the moist dirt between a cluster of trees. What do I do, now? How could he spring something like this on me? How the fuck can he think he LOVES me? I know I should get up and keep walking. Keep walking until I'm out of his reach. Instead of rising, leaving and breaking my word, I pull my knees into my chest and bury my face against them. GET UP. "Noo.." I almost wish I'd slip into a episode. A tiny part of me wishes for my maker's hissing voice in my head. Anything, anything to point me in a sensible direction. I ignore the moisture in my eyes, on my cheeks, telling myself it's from the rain. There's no phantom words of wisdom, no threats of danger. I can't figure this out on my own. Please. I desperately glance around at the surrounding woods, as if some figure will step out and tell me how to live my unlife. I'm smart enough to not be disappointed when there's nothing and no one coming to my rescue. Maybe because I just ran from the one who's willing to rescue me. Scooting back in the mud, I lean against the tree behind me, my clothes and hair slowly getting soaked in the downpour. I stay there for hours, adjusting my position only to curl into ball in the dirt. It's only once the rain stops, that I mindlessly climb to my feet and trudge back to the house.

Tracking mud into the empty den, I pause only long enough to pull my boots off and toss them in the general direction of the front mat. I breathe in through my nose, and follow the familiar scent to Law's bedroom. A light can be seen in the hallway, and when I enter the room, he's sitting up in the bed, staring at me. He doesn't bother to hide the concern in his expression as I stand at the foot of the bed, my clothes dripping rhythmically onto the carpet. His golden eyes survey me, but he doesn't move from his spot on the bed.
"Mad? Darlin', are you alright?"
My eyes drop from his, and I stare at the ground. I raise my hands to the collar of my shirt, awkwardly opening the buttons without looking up. The wet fabric laying open over my bra, I slide the shirt down my arms and drop it onto the floor. Still refusing to look up, my hands start shaking as I untie the drawstring on my muddy skirt. In a blur of movement that I don't see, Law is in front of me, holding my hands still. "What are you doing?" I halfheartedly attempt to pull my hands from his. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring up at me until I meet his eyes. I chew my lip, and gently pull one of my hands free. Placing it on the back of his neck, I bring my face to his, my mouth to his, and kiss him with as much passion as I can fabricate. His accedes, and I use the distraction to shimmy my skirt down my hips to join my shirt. He pulls back and I see the hunger in his eyes, how he's holding back. "You don't have to do this, darlin'" I take both of his hands, drawing them around me in an embrace. Without thinking, I climb onto his lap. Now, there's a tremor in his hands as they press lightly into my hips. "I don't -have- to do anything. I want to." His lips part, as if to argue further, and I interrupt him with another kiss. He groans into my mouth and pulls me farther onto the bed, rolling me onto my back. Law claws at my remaining garments, and I'm saved the trouble of removing my own clothes and his. I physically respond the best I can, using his fire and passion to numb my mind into a fog as the night turns to teeth, tongue and hands.

~~~~

The room is quiet and dark. My clothes long since forgotten on the floor, I'm suddenly over aware of my nakedness. I pull the covers up to my shoulders and roll over to face the door. Law shifts slightly, his body close to mine, but not touching. Sunrise must be near, and I'm shamed to feel grateful that he'll be losing consciousness before me. I start to relax, mistaking his silence for sleep.
"I love you." His soft voice makes my body tense in a way that I pray he doesn't notice. I bury my face deep into the comforter. After a few minutes of silence, I speak one dreaded syllable, muffled by the blanket.
"Why?"
He doesn't respond right away, but draws closer. I can feel the breath from his words in my hair.
"Because I know who you are under the crazy. Beautiful, and fierce." 
I don't even realize that I'm shaking my head in dissent until I feel his hand stilling the movement. I squeeze my eyes shut. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm weak. A monster. "There's too much dark."
His voice drags a bit, as if he's fighting the oncoming torpor just to spew this fiction. "I want your dark. I know the light underneath it."
I pull the comforter from my face, repeating my words from earlier. "You're out of your fucking mind." I hate that beneath the bewilderment and denial, there's this spark of something in my chest that makes me desire something I probably can't feel. He chuckles a little from behind me.
"Maybe I am, darlin'. Doesn't change anything." He pulls the covers down slightly, his fingertips grazing the skin on my back and shoulders. When he speaks again, his voice lacks the humor it had just a moment ago, but is rife with gentleness. "You scars run deep. Even the ones I can't see." My brow furrows, and I find myself wanting to draw away from his touch. "I know I can't fix them, but I want to make them hurt...less. I want to try." A slight growl creeps into his tone. "If I didn't suspect that you already did it, I'd like to tear the person that did this to you into unrecognizable shreds." 
Despite the sensitive subject matter, his soft touch lulls me into a sense of security. Is he strong enough? I cut that thought off, refusing to entertain the notion that there could be a happy ending for me. His hand stills, coming to a stationary rest on my side. He's quiet, cold and finally asleep. Clenching the covers to my chest, I stare blankly into the dark room. Fighting the pull of sleep myself, I speak aloud to the silence. "I'll only hurt you. I can't not. There's nothing in me to love." I'm already making plans in my head, even as I drift into unconsciousness. "...sorry you're too stupid to realize that."

I wake up before full nightfall, taking advantage of his heavy slumber to gather my few belongings. My mind is unusually clear and quiet as I stealthily move about the house. Slipping into Obfuscate, I'm off of the property and out of Law's life before he even fully wakes for the night.

Why would I want to watch you, disconnect and self destruct one bullet at a time? What's your rush now, everyone will have his day to die.

Tossing my iPod onto the table, I rise from the couch to pace the living room, again. Christ. He said he was coming over, where the fuck is he?! My mind goes to the worst place, like always. I can't help but imagine him caught, killed, or worse. Chewing my already mauled fingernails, I jump at the sound of a knock at the door. "'Bout damned time..." I mumble to myself, before swinging the door wide. A dark eyed, blue haired Lasombra stands on the porch. I open my mouth to chastise him on his lateness, and close it again as I take a deep inhale of his scent. Cocking my head to the side, I speak his name in inquiry "Tybalt?" He stumbles past the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him. When he speaks, his words are pain filled slur. "They killed him." I blink in confusion, but miss the chance to respond when the door is once more flung open. Mongrel barges in, crying, "MADDIE?!"  he stops short, catching his breath at the sight of Tybalt, eyes wide and mouth open. Tybalt looks up as the door opens. Seeing Mongrel, his eyes go hard. What. Shit? What? My eyes widen at both Mongrel's appearance and Tybalt's words. "Nice to see you got my message." Tybalt snarls to the Gangrel. Turning his attention back to me, I try to hide my shock, and the hint of elation I feel at Mongrel's presence. "The fucking Russian killed Hanzel. For helping me." Gulp. Guess I'll be next on Pyotr's list. As if just realizing his surroundings, Mongrel shakes himself, looking around and shutting the door behind him with unnatural speed. Fucking showoff. His hand flickers to his side to his weapons and he circles around the wall with his back towards it, "... T-Tybalt?" My eyes tick back and forth between the two, muscles tense, ready to spring if either of them show a sign of malevolence. Tybalt looks back at the Gangrel, noting his defensive posture.  "Don't bother."

Tybalt flops down on the floor, pulling a bottle of wine out of his hoodie. He uncaps it and begins drinking, adding to the already pungent stench of booze. Settling my gaze on Mongrel, I speak quietly. "Put your guard down. If he was gonna do something...you know you'd be dead already." The Gangrel's attention focuses on Tybalt, his thumb tracing the metal of his gun "... Maddie, are you okay?" His voice has a protective sort of growl to it, drawing a twinge from deep in my chest. This is going to be a fun night. I swallow unnecessarily, before settling onto the carpet beside Tybalt. Glancing up at Mongrel, I respond "I'm fine." before turning my concern to the plastered Lasombra at my side. His eyes are glassy, his expression distraught. Even the shadows are him seem to stagger and falter. Tybalt looks very pointedly at the Gangrel. "Were you involved in it? They melted his fucking car.  I can't even bury him because his ashes are fused to the metal." I flinch, hoping Mongrel gives an answer that won't lead to bloodshed. "Who? Hanzel? No. I had nothing to do with that." He eases up from his crouch and allows his coat to drape again. The guarded snarl quickly faded into a joyous one as he flung himself at the Tybalt and pulls the seated Lasombra into an embrace, "It's true! You're alive!" He visibly stiffens, pushing at Mongrel."Get. Off. What the FUCK makes you think I want to be hugged by Pyotr's personal fucking hatchetman?!"  he snarls. He makes the attempt to stand.  It doesn't work. Probably for the better. "Easy Tybalt" I put my hand on his shoulder, exerting only enough pressure to keep him seated, while still offering consolation. Tybalt takes a deep, purposeful breath, and much to my relief, nods.

Mongrel looks hurt but detaches himself and stands, taking several steps back. His face becomes unreadable. "...fair enough." He looks me over, and I see through his attempt to keep his expression blank. I turn my eyes away from his concern. Tybalt points a wavering finger at the Gangrel. "Don't go anywhere.  I didn't text you to bitch you out for something you didn't do." I furrow my brow, looking to Tybalt as he continues."I'm a bit..." Well, damn. I guess Tybalt snitched on me. "You texted..." I let my words trail off with a huff. I can feel Mongrel's eyes boring into me, even before I meet his gaze. "So, you almost walked into the sun?" There is no emotion in his voice, and I can't help but sigh, loudly. I ignore Tybalt's off putting chuckle beside me, and give a non-committal shrug. The laughter just as quickly leaves Tybalt's voice as he warns, "You need to get her out of town, Mongrel. The Russian is killing people for associating with me." Both Mongrel and I disregard his words, continuing our stare down."Uhuh. And you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself..." there is a tinge of anger in his voice but he retains his poker face. I exhale loudly, grabbing Tybalt's bottle and taking a hefty swig. "I'm still alive, aren't I?" No thanks to.. I cut that thought off, pleased by Tybalt's brief distraction. "Ummmm...sure.  Have a drink, Maddie." I smile a little, replying "Thanks" I take another swallow from the bottle as Tybalt fishes his cigarettes from his pocket. I hold the bottle in my lap, watching him try to light one. "Madre de noche...." he throws the lighter at me.  "Light this damn thing. Wine tax." I scowl, but do so, keeping one hand wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle. Mongrel turns a cool gaze to Tybalt, "You know that now that I know this I am obligated to kill both of you?" His voice falters on the last few words. His stoic face fails and all of his emotion shows through. Sighing heavily, he continues, "Which is why I could use one of those too." Mongrel goes into the kitchen and returns with a mason jar filled with clear liquid.

"Empty night... obviously I've had more than I thought I did." Tybalt shakes his his head, struggling to get his lighter back in his pocket. He looks to Mongrel as he reenters the room, "Yeah.  Obligated." His words are bitter. I take another drink, feeling the tension in the room and shuddering."Get your head out of your ass, Mongrel. You're working for a fucking monster." Mongrel crosses the room, sitting down against the wall and taking a sip from the jar, his voice is calm, "You know what, Tybalt. Go fuck yourself." Great. Now they're slinging insults like a bunch of teenagers. I stare down the neck of the wine bottle, mumbling to myself."Oh...this should be fun." Mongrel continues in an undertone, "I've had just about enough of the two of you- Tybalt and Pyotr. Fucking children sometimes." Tybalt laughs again, that same, off-putting laugh.  "A bit too late for that, don't you think?  I'm pretty fucked already." The both of them continue, talking over each other.
"How's that? You're still alive, ain'tcha?"
"But do go on.  Tired of us, you were saying?" I rub my face vigorously, their intertwining voices setting me on edge. Mongrel quiets down as Tybalt carries on. ".... for now." He's not wrong. I don't voice my opinion aloud. Mongrel's voice becomes soft, his eyes are sad, "This city is falling. I don't know how I-" Tybalt motions for me to pass the bottle. I pout, briefly, taking another sip before passing it over. He takes a long drink and sets it between us.

It's uncomfortably quiet for a moment. I sigh. "S'not the city that's failing...it's the people in it." Tybalt looks to me, an almost insulting expression of surprise on his face. "Might be the most truthful thing I've heard in awhile." My lips twitch up in a smile, remembering Pyotr's words. "I'm apparently shockingly insightful at times.." Mongrel frets, "How are we suppose to survive against all that assails us if the clans are constantly at odds with each other?" He smiles at me, and all of the sudden my smile feels brittle. I drop my head slightly. "And you are very often insightful, Mad--" He flinches and takes a swig. I sneak a glance at him from under the fringe of my bangs."Malkavian here, and I'm rarely at odds with anyone." Mongrel speaks softly, "Peace offering?" He closes the lid on the jar and rolls it across the floor to Tybalt and I. My head cocks to the side, Tybalt is whispering something, almost inaudible. "...out of...shut up...leave..." He doesn't seem to be speaking to either Mongrel or I. Mongrel glances at him curiously, "Though it seems Mr. Tybalt is a bit uh..." I snap my gaze to Tybalt, watching him carefully. "Who are you talking to, Tybalt?" He squeezes his eyes shut, hard. "Get the FUCK out of my head, you diablerist piece of shit!" Mongrel stands, on guard again. I keep my eyes on the Lasombra, head cocked, almost feeling sympathy pains. "...only one diablerist piece of shit I know." I glance at Mongrel again, accusingly. "shoulda let me kill him." Tybalt seems to get under control. "...the alcohol helps. It makes it easier for me to make him leave." I look at Tybalt sympathetically. "...sucks not being alone in there, doesn't it?" From the corner of my eye, I see that Mongrel relaxes a bit and leans against the wall, arms folded. He looks back at me. "There's one that I don't mind being up there, and if she knew how drunk I was right now..." I smile, kindly, cutting him off. "...she'd probably understand." He laughs again, and I'm relieved when it's a normal Tybalt chuckle. "Yeah.  She understands everything else. Hanzel was teasing me about her for weeks. Apparently she was getting the same sort of thing from Marcus." He grins.  "Everyone knew but us, apparently." My return smile falters a bit, and I fight the urge to look at Mongrel."It's always good to have someone like that." Tybalt's eyes narrow, he doesn't miss the falter. Damn it.

From across the room, Mongrel clears his throat, "Well then, if Maddie isn't going for a walk in the sunshine any time soon and you're not on fire, I think I'll go. Sorry for the intrusion." His voice is gruff. Before he can step away, Tybalt points to the Gangrel. "And thatsh why...madre de noche I did NOT just slur. That. Is. Why. I. Texted. You." I look down at the floor without a response. I don't want to hear this. Mongrel pauses, "...pardon?" Tybalt's voice is stern. Hardened. "Walking out that door is a poor decision, Mongrel. I'm not going to stop you from doing it, but I will tell you that it's a poor decision." I start getting that caged animal feeling, and fight the urge to dash off into the bedroom."And what... do you expect me to do?" Mongrel says through gritted teeth. I slowly rise to my feet, mumbling something about my iPod, which is clearly sitting on the floor next to me. Tybalt's next question stalls me, and I can't help but flinch. "Do you love her?" Mongrel is quiet for a moment. Too quiet. I know I should walk away. "What, have you taken up couples counseling, Tybalt?" The Lasombra doesn't back down. "I've taken up not letting other people make dumb mistakes unless I don't like them." Mongrel snarls and whips around, spitting his words at Tybalt. "DO NOT presume to know how I feel or... what is right for me." He looks to me, "...OR her." I just want to disappear at this point. I stare at my feet, willing them to sink into the floor as Tybalt continues his tirade. "I'm pretty sure that things that lead to her wanting to get a suntan aren't really right. Just my opinion, but suit yourself." I finally speak, keeping my voice low in attempt to hide the pain in it."Tybalt, just...It's OK. Just let it go. I've gotta...I'm just going to go...pee." I shuffle my feet forward few steps, knowing both men are watching me. "...fucking masochist." I mumble to myself before turning around and sitting back down.

The Lasombra raises an eyebrow slightly. I square my shoulders, lifting my chin in a pantomime of bravely that I don't feel. Mongrel growls and locks eyes with Tybalt, and they both grow silent. I note their concentration, and casually pick at the carpet. At least now I don't have to actually hear them talking about me like I'm not here. I catch Mongrel wiping at his eyes before he escapes to the kitchen with a quiet whimper. He returns with another jar of liquor, slumping against the wall with a burdened look upon his face. I twist the cord of my headphones around my finger, playing oblivious even as Tybalt walks over to Mongrel, offering his own bottle. He sighs, as they continue a conversation I can't hear. Fiddling with my iPod, it briefly switches on. A snippet of song pours into the silence.
"How can I just let you walk away, just let you leave without a trace
 When I stand here taking every breath with you, ooh
 You're the only one who really knew me at all"
I click it off in a hurry, glancing up to see the pair's attention on me. Tybalt moves towards the door with a sense of forced casualty. "I think I'm going to go stretch my legs a bit, maybe burn some of this out of my system." I try to meet his eyes, shaking my head slightly. He ignores me, stumbling slightly. "Madre de noche.  Ok, maybe more than some." He finally meets my gaze. "I'll be on the porch,"

Resting my elbow on my knee, I place my chin in my hand, feeling nervous. Mongrel waits until Tybalt is gone before asking in a quiet voice, "Why'd you do it, Maddie?" I jerk my shoulders up into a shrug. "Didn't do it. Just...tried." For the first time that night, my name sounds comfortable on his lips. Some of the tension leaves my face. "Want me to leave?... I won't tell anyone he was here." Christ. How the fuck does he expect me to answer that? "You want honest, painfully honest or a lie?" I don't look up. "...whichever you're willing to give." I sigh. "No." I say quietly. Even quieter "...never." His voice is sorrowful when he replies. "I can't save you, Maddie." I finally look at him, keeping my gaze below his nose, not meeting his eyes. "Never thought you would." I never asked you to, either. Mongrel continues, the pain in his words cuts me like a knife. "I'm making it worse by staying and trying to." I almost want to stomp my foot in outrage. He really doesn't get it. Stupid Gangrel. I meet his eyes, speaking firmly. "Then why don't you stop trying to save me and just...accept that I'm going to have to save myself." I add on, as a grudging afterthought:"And double realize that I can't do that...without you." Guess I should start accepting that I can be saved, in the first place. He looks at me in awe and giving me a small smile, "I know that now, Madelyn."  Just as quickly, the smile is gone, "I know. I know. Which is why.... I need to. Please." I tilt my head to the side, not understanding. Mongrel straightens up and collects himself, "Which is why I need to save myself for once." I furrow my brow, keeping quiet. "As I said before, I will be around if you need me, I won't betray you or Tybalt willingly. That's all I can offer you right now. If you say that you don't need saving, I will take you at your word." I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. I take what is likely a visible effort to attempt a smile before nodding at Mongrel. "Oh. OK. Sorry I...or, we dragged you into this." He winces as he watches me, it's obvious he doesn't want to leave just yet."You didn't." I give a non-committal shrug. "Well, don't risk getting yourself in trouble for protecting us. It's probably inevitable that..." That I'll meet an untimely demise sooner, or later. "Just don't get killed cuz of me."

A momentary flash of light comes through the open door, followed by Spanish cursing, and the smell of burnt hair wafting into the room from outside. Mongrel chuckles briefly,  "Too late for that." before rushing outside. I hear him inquire, "You alright? Tybalt?" and the sound of him stomping out a cigarette. I stay seated, yelling towards the door. "Don't you mess up that blue!" My words are more jovial than my mood, and I angrily swipe tears from my eyes while the two speak, outside. Cocking my ear to the open doorway, I eavesdrop as I sniffle to myself. Tybalt's voice drifts in, sounding forlorn. "No.  No I'm not, Mongrel.  I've got a Malkavian in my head making me do things I don't remember, a dead friend, a lover I'm scared to death for, another friend I'm worried about, and to top it off I can't seem to smoke correctly. I've had better nights." Mongrel's voice trails in, just as downtrodden. "If it's alright with you both, I'd like to just spend time with you before I go. I don't know when I might see you again, especially if a certain Nosferatu manages to break into my head again... though I have put up some mental blocks." Tybalt sighs. "In the end, all we have is this: people. People we care about. The titles and the status and the pretty words, they don't keep the beast at bay....." he pauses, "I'm rambling." I hear a grin in Mongrel's voice as he replies, "Finish your smoking and get in here, you ass." The same smile is heard in the Lasombra's voice. "Tell you what. You can stay if you smack me when I start rambling." 

They both wander in, Mongrel is smirking."Don't tempt me. Just might." I nonchalantly wipe my hand on my shirt, the dark smear of red is barely visible, to my relief. Tybalt glances at me, "Oh, maybe you shouldn't.  If anyone messes up her art project,"  he points to his head, "she might get mad at us." I give a half smile. "I know you can't see it, but trust me, it looks great." We're all quiet for a moment, and I pick at the already threadbare carpet some more. Mongrel breaks the silence."Alright well... since we have tonight, and I have you both for a bit..." He smiles at both Tybalt and I, sadly as though we might suddenly disappear. Tybalt gets a thoughtful look on his face, and then asks, "Can either of you draw?" Reminiscing, I answer, "I can't, unless you count those pictures on the wall when we were locked in your basement..." The Lasombra snorts, wine dripping from his nose. I jerk my thumb over to Mongrel, as he answers,"I can." Very quietly, Tybalt asks, "Would...you, please?" Mongrel nods enthusiastically. "What would you like? My better sketch book is at...but I have another in my old room. Something of the two of you?" Tybalt shakes his head, "...no.  I just..." he sighs, "I want something to give to Test, before..." He looks away. I look at my friend sadly, before nailing him in the arm with a punch. "Ow." He rubs at his arm, looking surprised. I just shrug. Mongrel walks from the room, I hear him shuffling around in the closet before he reenters with a sketchbook. He flips to an open page, settling down in front of Tybalt. "Ohhh... right. Well, hold still then. Tilt your chin a bit up? Yes." His pencil scratches against the paper, and the sound is soothing. I watch Tybalt at first, but I can't help when my gaze turns to, and lingers on Mongrel as he sketches, taking an occasional sip of moonshine.

The evening goes on in such a ridiculously domestic manner. Like three old friends...hell -like three Kine- even, we chat casually, only lightly grazing subjects that touch on the real problem at hand. Things like Tybalt being a wanted fugitive, and my aiding a criminal. Things like the fact that Pyotr will likely have all three of killed, come next sunset. Mongrel sketches, and Tybalt drinks, and for the time being, we're safe.

Now do you think you're too damn good for the killing kind?

A slightly off tune rendition of a Sting song echoes on my side of the woods. Jesus Christ, was I actually just singing to myself? I shake my head, but can't deny the uplift in my mood since my encounter with Tommy. Despite my fear and his temper...I haven't felt this content since I died. Making my way through the clearing, the cabin comes into view. Mongrel is home. Alone, for a change. Now's the best time...maybe even one of the last times I'll get to speak with him on neutral ground. I've accepted what I need to do. Mostly.

Or maybe you just know what the good father will do to you, if you don't.
On instinct, a growl slips from my lips. There she is, waiting for me on the wooden steps, blocking the front door. You bitch. A smile creeps onto the Shadow's face. Miss me, Maddie? 
"Yeah, funny enough. Where were you hiding all night?" 
My voice is rich with bravado. "Necromancers make you nervous?" 
She laughs, but I feel her anger at my audacity. Your bi-polar fuck buddy? She laughs derisively. You moron. It's not like he could doing anything to me without destroying you, too. I don't have time for this shit. I attempt to make my way up the stairs, ignoring the phantasm of myself. Her cold, unyielding hand against my chest halts my progress and I take a retreating step. And what are you up to now, little Maddie? 
"None of your fucking business!" I snap, knowing damned right my plans are laid out in the forefront of my thoughts. God damn, it.

A chit chat with your mutt? Set him to his mission and implore that he forgives the torment and torture you're planning on putting him through? Blame it all on me? Innocent little Maddie would -never- hurt her Mongwel. Ha. Oh you are fucking priceless, Maddie. 
My temper flares and I spit my next words through gritted teeth. "Stop fucking calling me that." 
The Shadow's eyebrow arches. Oh, I'm sorry...is that nickname still off limits? Old Tommy sure seemed to be getting away with it, I only figured... She smiles, the expression cruel on lips that are a mirror image to my own. Right. He's allowed to, now. Because he -cares- about you. 
I hate her laughter, it echoes through the woods and my mind. "Fuck. You." 
Good comeback, bitch. She settles onto the top step, making herself comfortable. So what's your next move? You and the Giovanni asshole have your resurrection all neatly planned out. We torture your little ex boyfriend until he finds someone to help. Then what? You manage to shake me off and come back to life? 

I hate her for bringing this wondering to mind. What does happen if I come back? What will I be? And why is Tommy so fanatical about helping me? He says he wants things back the way they were, but what does he stand to gain from all this? Ulterior motives seem to be Tommy's M.O.

I don't have to look up to know my Shadow is triumphant. I feel myself shrinking, weakening. It's a fight to keep from curling into myself. No, god damn it. I won't let you beat me down. It's not a matter of letting, Maddie. The voice now speaks clearly in the back of my mind. I own you, you're just too dumb to realize it. 
"What do you want from me?" I'll add it to my fucking list.

I want you to give in to me. All this stupid, POINTLESS worrying. This back and forth do what everyone else says for your own good bullshit. Just. Let. Go. Release the reins, Maddie. Hand them over to the one that knows you best. You're damned and you know it, so give up the fight. I know how exhausted you are. More than any of them know. More than Mongrel. More than Tommy. Her voice almost sounds kind. More than you even realize. You'll never really be free, after all. Your dear, departed Sire saw to that. The madness and the pain are beaten far too deep into you. And quite frankly, this whole "resurrection" business is a farce. Word gets out that you're fraternizing with Necromancers...your after life is going to become more hell than you can imagine. We don't like that kind of talk. Makes it seem like you're too damned good to be dead. And that's just...

With a tremendous effort comparable to a mental wrecking ball, I shut it...the voice...her up with a shout. "That's enough." I could waste the rest of my eternity listening to that shit. Which is probably the idea. I'm stronger than that. I will make myself stronger than that. There's no barricade this time as I make my way into the cabin. Mongrel is hunched over his desk as usual, the chalky scent of oil pastels permeates the air. I circle him a few times before perching on an adjacent table. I have to do what I have to do. I can't prevent his pain if it means I can't be free. But I can't do this because of someone else's plans. I'm going to do this for me. I faced a cheap, meager death and I'm still fucking here. "I'm still fucking here." With those words, spoken behind the Shroud, I manifest on Mongrel's side. Hands folded in my lap, I wait patiently for his yellow eyes to look up.

Humble and helpless, learning to pray. Praying for visions to show me the way.

Leaving the cabin with the same faint resentment I've grown used to, I head towards a small town I've not yet wandered. Night by night, I try to find something to distract me from the sorrow that often hangs about both Mongrel and Law. Even worse, the elation Mongrel expresses when his dearest Sasa is around. Rage smolders in my gut and I walk faster, before someone decides to act on my anger without my consent.

As usual, the landscape in my immediate view is lifeless and bleak as, well...me. A moldering cemetery and yard alert me to the presence of a church. I walk between the crumbling old tombstones, pausing here and there to peruse the aged inscriptions. Broken pews and collapsed bookcases pepper the inner space of the church. I spot a few leaflets on the ground. Picking one up, I smirk at the antiquated racist propaganda. I pocket the leaflet with a sigh. Nothing much for me here. Despite my boredom, I perch on the corner of a crumbling pew. A whisper of choir song reaches me across the shroud and I wince from the sound. It's shortly followed by the sound of unseen seats around me filling with live bodies. Apathetic, I focus my gaze on the source of the sound, seeing across the shroud. I set eyes on a few dozen dark heads facing away from me. They all have their attention on a slender black man in a suit and glasses. I snort aloud, the irony of the pamphlet in my pocket not missing me. "Lord, you are so good!" The preacher shouts.
In reply, the choir sings "So good to me, Lord!" 
I shake my head, realizing this is far from my scene, and rise from my seat to head to the door. As I head back out to the cemetery, I hear the skinny preacher shouting an introduction, "Lord, we got a good one for you to-night. Yes yes yes yes, we gotta good one. Father, as seen on T.V., Thomas Maletoni!" Holy shit.

At mention of the familiar name, I slowly turn to face the pulpit, my eyes wide and disbelieving. Father Maletoni stands in front of the congregation, black suited and unchanging from last time I saw him a decade ago. The crowd seems taken aback by the Catholic priest in their midst, but none more so than I. Walking between the pews, I find myself seated once again. Tommy shakes the deacon's hand and ask the crowd to stand and join him in prayer. I shake my head in derision. Still keeping up appearances. That's Tommy, all right. As everyone around me rises, I notice a vaguely familiar young man, clearly on my side of existence. Innocuous enough in jeans and a sports coat, I still feel the need to make myself scarce. I glance towards Tommy, and loneliness wins over self preservation. After a moment the young man takes notice of me and approaches my pew. "Is this seat taken?" 
I stare at the young man, fighting the urge to answer sarcastically. "Um.." I press my lips together and shake my head, gesturing to the seat next to me.
The young man sits and speaks in a low voice. "Have you seen him perform before?" 
I glance towards the stage. "Not in this manner. I can imagine Tommy puts on quite a show." I'd almost guarantee as such, judging by how he performs at other tasks. 
My company also gazes at the stage. "Yeah, it's a..It's what he does. A stickler for rituals, eh?" 
I peer side eyed to the gentleman, already a bit weary of small talk. "So, who are you?" 
Without looking back, he replies "I'm a fan." 
A fan? "Hm." I shrug and turn my full attention to Tommy. He shouts animatedly to the audience, screaming at them. They respond in kind, cheering "Amens" to the young preacher. I once again shake my head, but fail to keep the amused expression off my face, "Hallelujah, indeed." I mumble under my breath.

Still speaking in a quiet tone, as if they could be heard, the young man asks, "What brings you to church, Miss...?" 
I respond in a normal volume. "Madelyn. And uh...guess I didn't have anything better to do." 
He nods. "Little late to get into heaven, eh?" 
At that statement, I laugh bitterly. "Yeah, I'm sure that's where I was headed." My misdeeds stick out far too prominently in my thoughts.
The young man turns to me and I can only hope my thoughts don't show in my expression. "Why bother with the church, then?" 
Nosy one, isn't he. "Running out of places to go. Plus, there's usually mourners or repentants." To feed off of...I finish in my head.
His attention is once more returned to the front and I silently question his deep interest in the priest. "Not many in these historic necropoli. At least, that's what Tom says." 
I smirk at the name 'Tom'. "Can you blame em? It's all overrated, anyway." He and I share a chuckle over Tommy's blatantly hypocritical sermon about chastity, and once again I ponder on his absorption to Tommy.
He reaches an extended hand towards me. "I'm Fredrick." 
I hesitate a second, as the name strikes a vaguely familiar chord in me. Finally grasping his hand, I reply "Nice to meet you...I guess." I wonder if my skepticism to that statement shows on my face. He seems to be studying me between constant glances to the preacher on the pulpit. I ignore him at first, keeping my own attention at front, but eventually tire of his stare. Turning to face him, I raise an eyebrow in silent query.
"I'm sorry, I might have-" He stops, suddenly, as if having been hit by something. "I thought I had seen you somewhere." 
"It's likely.." I respond, not offering up any more information. "I'd like to think it's fairly difficult for a mistaken identity." 
He laughs a bit, "Pink isn't a color I'm used to seeing in this area."
I look around the church. "Indeed. It's fairly monochromatic here." On stage, Tommy seems to have stopped preaching, and the church congregation claps their approval. Now I ignore the man beside me, attention drawn to the dark haired priest. The original pastor, dark and refined, retrieves the pulpit as Tommy heads out stage left.

I watch Tommy exit and, barely realizing it, find myself rising from the pew. I start forward, then remember my present company. I glance towards Fredrick. "I think I'll uh..." I trail off after Tommy, not looking back. I hear him following, but pay the other wraith no mind. Should I really be doing this? 
A cruel, hissing voice echoes in my skull and it's a struggle to not outwardly react.
Are you a fucking idiot?! You think a suicide attempt like this is going to end up any better than giving in to -me-? Tommy was one of few friends I had. 
Fuck buddy seems more fitting. He's a Giovanni, you moron. A necromancer. Do you know what they do? What he'll do to you? My forward momentum seems to slow at the shadow's words. Enslavement. Torture. He'll destroy you. 
He wouldn't. 
I continue to follow the priest out a side exit and into a graveyard. I scan the landscape, until setting eyes on Tommy as he tosses what appears to be dollar coins upon each grave. I rub my hand against my forehead, as if staving off a headache.
You're a god damned fool if you do anything other than turning and walking away.
Something in the shadow's tone hints to fear, and it's that which settles my inner conflict. A plethora of emotions writhe in me as I cross the shroud and become visible to anyone who cares to look.

Tommy is turning to face another aisle of graves when takes notice of myself and Fredrick, who has followed me into the graveyard. The bag of coins falls from his hand, quickly joining his already fallen staff. I tuck my hands into my hoodie, gazing at him warily, almost afraid to speak. Tommy stills, as words seem to fail the usually verbose Giovanni. It brings the faintest of smiles to my lips. "Thomas Maletoni at a loss for words? If only everybody's reaction was this impressive." Idiotically, I find myself almost flattered.
He reaches to his right eye, plucking it from it's socket. "I've always been one to..." He struggles to produce a rag from his pocket, presumably to shine the glass orb. "Be impressive." 
Amused, I reply "Must be why I hung around so often. Birds of a feather." I notice a tremor in his hands. "Need some help with that?" 
He pulls his hand closer to his chest, protectively. The defensive actions nixes any urge I had to move closer. "Fredrick," he speaks, softly. "Make sure we're alone on your side." The slender young wraith nodded, and began skulking and surrounding himself with an aura of malice about the archaic tombstones.
I watch this with a detached curiosity. "Expecting trouble?" My words are casual, but my wariness shows through, tinging my voice with anxiety.
"I fear no spectre, no matter the form it takes." 
Fear? What the hell is Tommy thinking? "Must be nice." I mumble under my breath.
"What are you, spirit?" He forces his right foot forward, sliding it against the grass and fallen leaves as he speaks. His forward motion causes me to take an involuntary step back. My face contorts, split between fear and shame. "I'm...me. Just uh, dead." Despite my knowledge and former friendship with the priest, everything about his manner seems menacing to me.
"Madelyn was diablerized. The Sabbat killed her." With his words comes a shake of the head another slow step forward. "I fear there may be more gravy than grave to you." 
Is he quoting Dickens at me? What the fuck is he... Anger joins the smorgasbord of emotions upon my face. "You've got the 'killed' part right." I visibly fight the urge to retreat further.
Tommy grimaces, his brow furrowing in anger. "Affirm your identity, Spectre. I swear to Christ I'll rip your tattered bits to Hell. I'll feed you like shit to the mouths of demons. I fucking swear, you little fuck!" His hands raise, channeling an ethereal power to his palms.
Oh god, oh no...don't hurt me please.. I unwillingly back up, stumbling over my own feet until a grave stone hits the backs of my legs. Panic bubbles over and I spit out the first thing that comes to mind. "Jesus Christ, Tommy! You didn't even talk that dirty when we were fucking!"

He steps back and releases the gathered power upon the young wraith. Fredrick screams and collapses, his corpus fading into the Shadowlands' atmosphere. "Madelyn? Good god, that's really you?" 
I watch his actions with a barely disguised fear. Turning wary eyes back to Tommy, I reply in a shaky voice. "Caught on, have you?"  
He is visibly calmer as he rests his hands in his jacket pockets. Despite as such, I can't shake my dread. Over the sounds of the service inside the church, Fredrick can be heard gasping in pain. "Fuck, you're still here?" 
I ignore his comment, but don't remove my eyes from his. Gesturing my head towards the other wraith, I respond "Another friend of yours?" That was almost me. She was right, Tommy is dangerous. 
He beings striding towards me, talking lightly with accentuation on every syllable. "He doesn't matter. You do." 
My body tenses, and I shrink back like a cornered prey animal, feeling the press of the cold stone against my legs. I somehow manage to keep my voice steady. "I've often though so..but, uh.." I spare a glance towards Fredrick, still moaning on the ground.
Tommy walks quicker, ignoring the other wraith and stopping within two feet of me. "You can't be here." he says in a soft, non threatening voice.
I stare up at the priest. "Probably not, but I am just the same. I. I can go...somewhere else, I guess." I take a deep breath, needlessly.
"No." In that one word, his voice is confident and commanding.
I'm cowed by the strength that emanates from him, shrinking into the terrified child I oft become. "...please." I whisper, choking off my own words furiously.
He closes the final gap between us and wraps an arm around my waist. My face is pulled to his in a deep, desperate kiss. I stiffen, as unyielding as stone in his unmovable grasp. Thoughts are incoherent as the sound of the church choir and Fredrick's pained groans fade from my ears. Despite the priest's frigid lips and my own inner consternation, I give in, thawing at the first touch of a living person in over a decade. At my response, Tommy presses harder against me. I tremble, relishing the sensation. After a moment, he pulls away and head spinning, I hear him speak. "You're crying? You're crying tears?" He seems equal parts worried and excited.
It's then I notice the dampness on my cheeks. Oh god damn it, are you kidding me? It's bit a long time but...fuck. "Jesus Christ." I vigorously swipe at my face, ridding myself of the traitorous tears and mumbling "...the female equivalent of premature ejaculation..."

Tommy releases me from his grasp, giving me space by stepping back. "Madelyn, what the hell have you been doing all these years?" 
I lift and drop my shoulders in a shrug. "Same as always." Suffering. Being dead and miserable and alone. My brow creases. "Except, not." I open my mouth to continue, but just as quickly close it.
Tommy places his palm tightly against my forehead. "Why haven't you passed on to your reward, Maddie?" 
Hyper aware of his touch, I snort at his comment, although my expression remains sad. "Reward, Tommy? Have the years led you to forget what I was?" 
He acts as though I've personally insulted him, and his hand tightens harder on my head. "Redemption is always an option." 
I flinch, unconsciously baring my teeth. "Never been great at that whole redemption thing. I figure I'd have way too much explaining to do." 
He squeezes and it takes all my strength to not retreat back into the Shadowlands. He shouts "How would you like hell, you little shit!? What of your soul?" 
I slap at his hand and pull my face away. "What the fuck do you know about hell, Tommy? Your preaching? Fire and brimstone? Hell is what I know best." I wrench my eyes from his, glaring blankly towards the cemetery gates. "...asshole." I hate the wounded tone in my voice.
Tommy seems even more enraged by my resistance. "I know more about Hell than you will ever claim to! There's not a damn thing anyone on Earth can do to you that the demons I've spoken to couldn't top." He spits his words at me before turning away. His voice is muffled, "Stupid fucking bitch. You know nothing." Turning once more to see me, he points and whispers clearly, "Nothing."

I desperately try to hold onto anger, rage...anything but the impending crush of dismay. This isn't how I sought to spend my night. I fail to retain my grasp and my determination breaks as I quickly turn from the priest. He's right. "I don't." My voice is barely a whisper and I take a few steps away and sink cross legged into the dry grass. I sense Tommy approaching, reaching out to me. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I had just stayed in the misery at the cabin.
"I'm sorry, Madelyn." he quickly continues, "What is your human name? The one given by your mortal mother before your embrace?"
I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and resting my head away from the priest. "Madelyn. Madelyn Alexis DeWittier." I fail to sense the impending action of my words.
"Madelyn Alexis DeWittier, stand." He chants in an unrecognizable language and there is no resisting his command. You bastard. You god damned bastard. How can he do this to me. I flinch, feeling betrayed. "Turn, Maddie. Please face me." I do, and his face is stricken. The expression confuses me.
Like a lost child, I glance around as if expecting some monster to creep out. "Is this...Is this even real?" 
Tommy whispers, "No, my dear. My Maddie." He pauses, wiping tears from his cheeks. "Nothing is real now, Madelyn. Nothing but your new choice."
I thought this was over. Isn't it bad enough with her...the shadow, trying to take over. Why must they give and take like this? Why can't I just have a night, have just a MOMENT of peace?! I wrap my arms around myself, shaking my head side to side. "Why did they send you? Are they already tired of using Mongrel or...him?" I shudder. "What are you going to make me do?" 
Tommy presses his cold lips to my cheek in a kiss. "God sent me to help you, Maddie. He wants you to get better. He wants you to come back to us." 
Please, no. That's worse. "Please...please don't do that. Just get it over with, please. I won't fight, I'll...I'll be good." The vacant feeling of surrender fills me as I give up on a battle yet to fully commence. "Who is 'us', Tommy?" Who wants what from me, now? 
"God wants to give you back to me and Mongrel." 
I blink a few times, confused, and rub my eyes with the heel of my hand. "What's the catch? What do I have to give in return?" A flicker of lucidity. "I'm running low on what I have to give...Low to empty." My eyes drop to the ground in shame.
Tommy's arms are around me once more, his hand to the back of my head. Gently, this time. Deceptively gently? "I don't know, but I know Mongrel can help you. Let him." His touch is far too comforting, far too much like solace.
"...nooo.." I whimper, but can't help but to tuck myself into his embrace. "Mongrel wants me to move on. He says he wants to set me free. What does that even mean?" 
Tommy kisses the top of my head, drawing an indecipherable sound from my lips. "Mongrel is a dirty faggot that doesn't know anything, Maddie. He doesn't know that if you pass, you'll go straight to Hell. We need to bring you back." I laugh aloud before I can help it. I quickly cover my mouth, ashamed, and my eyes widen in realization.

This is no hallucination. It can't be. "This is...different." I cock my head to the side, studying Tommy with enlightened eyes.
"Not so different from a decade ago. Is it?" He smiles.
"Well, no...but.." A slight shake to clear my head further. "This...really is happening, isn't it. Gets harder and harder to tell, lately." I place my hand upon Tommy's chest, gauging his realness and confirming my words.
"I'm real, Maddie. Pissed as it makes me, I'm still living and breathing." He lightly chortles at his own joke, "Well, breathing when I want to talk." 
I keep my hand to his chest and attempt a smile. Great. Don't talk to anyone for years and the first time I do, I crack up. Embarrassed, I keep my voice casual. "It's uh...good to see you, Tommy." The feel of his chest beneath my fingertips assuages me more than I would ever say. "It truly is."
Tommy's brief smiles grows to a grin. He takes my hand from his chest and into his own. "Would you like to talk a bit? There's a lot of time before the sun rises." 
Ha. The sun. Haven't worried about that in a while. "I haven't actually talked to anyone but myself in a long time." I curl my fingers around his and stare at the result. "Haven't touched anyone, either." 
He squeezes my hand and reaches for the other. "Would you like to tell me about your adventures in the Dead Lands?" 
A shudder runs through me. "I fear our definition if adventure differs greatly. Maybe I waste my potential, but it's a struggle to keep myself...myself." I purposefully avert my eyes from Tommy's. "More than it ever was." 
"I can see how difficult it can be to keep control." His hands hold me tighter and he leans to whisper in my ear. "If you have a path, you won't get lost. I swear that you'll stay you. You have to resist." 
He speaks as if it's so easy. How could he know so much an yet...so little. I sigh. "You can't swear that. You don't know..." I look up, fearful of rousing his fury. "It's hard. Harder than when I was alive, and more tempting to give in." I hear my voice waver, anger and shame reading clearly on my face.
Tommy's face maintains it's convictions and confidence, but behind his mask it waned. "Don't fucking dare give up. " 
"I haven't, have I? Seventy seven years and I'm still..." Dead. "..well...I'm dead." I give a half smile. "I try, Tommy."
He returns the smile, far more naturally. "You have, and you're going to keep trying. Yes?" Between him and Mongrel, it's a lot like having a mini pep squad. I nod at his statement, knowing he likely sees the doubt in my eyes. My hands seem to move of their own accord, tracing along Tommy's upper body as if reacquainting with the familiar planes. I'm barely aware I'm doing it.

The silence makes me anxious after a few moments, and I'm forced to break it on my own. "So, are you a god yet? How's that whole thing going?" 
His face changes, becoming marred with restraint. "That was a fantasy." 
I arch my eyebrow at the priest, curious. "I wouldn't peg you to being so imaginative." His forced smile, coupled with his awkward glass eye and open mouth scars, turn the attempt at pleasantry into a countenance of appalling nature. Yeesh. What did Tommy get into when I was gone? 
He chuckles lightly, the sound almost unpleasant. "I can be an imaginative monster." 
Viewing his reaction through wary eyes, I can't keep pride from my voice as I respond. "You and I both." 
"Will you join me at a seat?" He gestures towards a small picnic table, visible past the graves.
"Sure..." I reply, cordially enough. It's then I become fully aware of my unconscious feeling up of the young priest. Ah, god damn it. My eyes widen as I stutter out an apology. I remove my hands from Tommy, cover my face with one and make my way to the table. Eschewing the bench to sit on the table itself, I half turn to watch Tommy take a seat on the bench adjacent.
He presses the tips of his fingers together, peering at me with a curious look upon his face. "I wanted to ask you your forgiveness for something, Madelyn. Since we're focusing on redemption, and all." 
Perplexed, I ask  "Forgiveness from me?" 
He takes a small, worn piece of paper from the inside of his jacket. The black ink on the page bleeds through so that I get a glance of a list of sorts. "I did something to one of yours before you died. Thought that I should come clean, before you begin your path." 
My head cocks to the side. "One of mine?" Oh right, Malkavian. How quickly I forget. I look at the priest, suspicious, but wholly unworried. "What did you do?"  Tommy turns the note around to face me, revealing a line of names. Some are crossed off, but only those at the top of the list. To better show it, he takes a lighter and sparks it near the note. Among the crossed out names are "Pyotr" and "Hunter." Simon, Munin, and Testament remain uncrossed on the list. A flutter in my gut, telling me I'm about to find out a bit about Tommy that I was previously unaware of. I look to the priest's face, keeping my own blank. "I take it this isn't a Christmas list?" He brings his hand down to a name crossed out, separate from the others.
It reads, "Melody." Tommy looks closely at me, "This was one of your clan. I took her. You're the only one that can forgive me." 
Truthfully, I only vaguely remember the young woman. I chose to separate myself from most of my clan, seemed safer more than often, "And did what? Don't be coy, Tommy.." 
"I drank her dry and devoured her soul for Amm-" Tommy stutters for a moment. His normally clear annunciation is suspended as he seems to struggle to speak. I'm almost happy to hear him as the one struggling for once. "Amaranth."
I'm hardly surprised. Diablerie seemed right up Tommy's ally. Poor, power hungry boy. "Christ, Tommy. You really dug in deep, didn't you?" I feel sad, but more so for Tommy than those he had slain. An errant thought crosses my mind. "Is that..." my voice pauses. "Is that what you did to Pyotr?" I swallow harshly, angered that I still feel an old sorrow for the Brujah.
"Franco wouldn't let me." He doesn't seem guilty in the least as he looks down to the former Regent's name. "Franco gave him the Praxis, so I suppose it was his right." 
Yeah. Good old Franco. "Right..well you know my opinion on that one."  I have to look away, knowing the Giovanni wouldn't appreciate the pity etched in my expression. "Christ, Tommy..." I repeat.
"I've eaten a lot of our people, Maddie." He places a hand down to mine. "I'm asking you to forgive me for Melody."

Rationalizing in my own head, Tommy is..was..essentially a cannibal. But is he so wrong? We are all monsters. Some more than others. Isn't ridding our existence a commendable idea? Even if it was for his own power hungry delusion. The feel of his hand is far too comforting. "Hell, I forgive you for all of it. I mean, I probably wouldn't give a shit about you if ya weren't screwed up." My expression turns serious. I wonder how close I can to meeting the same fate. After all, look up 'monster' in the dictionary... "Did you ever...would you of done it to me?" Without hesitating, he points to an area on the page that was whited out. A gap between Testament and Valik. Christ. How easily could Tommy have brought upon merciless death? I struggle to keep an emotionless visage. "Too bad the Sabbat beat you to it." 
"I took you off. You were never really an option." 
That's interesting. "And why is that?" I know he feels the slight tremble in my hand.  Tommy looked surprised, as if not expecting the question. As if he'd not ever thought to ask it, himself. Quite interesting. I spare another glance to the paper. Valik was on the list, Magnus, Testament, even his Sire, Raven. Only my name and one other had been whited off the list.
"I can't." 
Can't? Really. Something Tommy can't do? "Guess that's a good thing. For me." I laugh without humor. "Especially given all the chances you had." My laugh is broken by an unwilling shudder.
Tommy's hand tightens on mine suddenly, his voice raised. "This is my path! This is how far I have to go. You're not alone in damnation, but there's always a way out!" Like a dog that's been beat, I flinch, fearing his wrath once more. By instinct, I try to yank my hand from his, but his grip is too strong. "Damn it, Madelyn. This is for your own good!" he screams. Only for the music and speakers of the small adjacent church is his voice masked. "Do you want to end up in Hell? Somewhere worse? What the fuck are you thinking?" 
I'm caught in a whirlwind of my own emotions, riding on his anger. "...stop. Stop." I turn to glare at the priest. A paper tiger. "Damn you, Tommy...you don't know how hard it's been for me. At least when I was alive, there's was always someone to watch over me, protect me....keep me sane. For the past decade I've been alone. No one cares about me. There's nothing to remind me not to give up. No one to contradict all the voices that tell me...that -assure- me that letting go means I won't hurt anymore. That if I give in, I'll forget every horrible thing done to me. Every horrible thing I've done." I hate the tears that burn in my eyes. "I'm weak, Tommy. That's one thing my maker is still right about." I fear even speaking of the monster aloud.
"Your maker didn't know anything about who you are, now. Only you do. I know it can be terrifying. I've spoken to so many wr-" He pauses and collects himself.  "Spirits. They've told me of their hardships, and I know it's difficult." 
My voice is quiet and without power. "I don't want to be dead..."
Tommy looks frustrated, almost pained by something. "Then don't be." 
My hand ceases it's fruitless struggle to escape his. "Oh? Is it that easy?" Now I just feel ashamed of myself.

"Tommy, I'm sorry." 
He takes his left hand and places it under my chin. "Don't be. It's not as easy as saying it, but I think there may be a way to help you." 
At least he admits it's not just a damn walk in the park. I take his hand from my chin, resting my cheek against the open palm. I can't meet his eyes. "I hope there is. And I should be sorry. First live person I willingly speak to and all I do is whine and rub myself on him." Despite my verbalized shame, I keep my face in his hand.
"You'll have plenty of time to do everything else, Madelyn." The edges of the priest's mouth turns up, without restraint. "Neither of us are going anywhere, as long as we both do our jobs." 
I return Tommy's smile with effort. Realizing I'm still holding his hand to my face, I drop my own. "Sorry, sorry. Why is it always you that's around when I'm desperate.." I cringe "..for human contact?"  
Tommy seems to wonder at it, for a moment. "Because you don't have anyone else left?" I open my mouth to respond, but quickly close it again. All I manage is a wavering, pathetic excuse for a laugh. Oblivious, Tommy smiles and cups my face in his smooth, cold hands. "I can help you keep yourself, Madelyn. Let me protect you this time." 
I grasp his wrists and smile back, closing my eyes in pure contentment for a moment. "That's a hell of a responsibility, Tommy. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kind of a mess. I'm surprised Mongrel stuck around as long as he did." My smile wilts a bit, and I hope Tommy doesn't notice.
The hint of annoyance in his voice suggests otherwise. "He didn't. He left you for that frocio, Pyotr. I tried to protect you from the Sabbat when that little shit was in Scandinavia with the rest of the blond faggots!" 
Heh. Yeah, he must have a thing for blonds, now. I sigh. "He tried. He did. I don't blame him for doing what he did." I do. Oh, fuck yes I do. 
"If he did what he had to do, he wasn't worth your devotion in the first place." Thomas speaks as if reciting from a book. A matter-of-fact opinion.
Typical Giovanni. "I have to tell myself that, Tommy. Otherwise..." My words are tinged with fear.
"Otherwise, what? You don't need someone else to have the right to exist. You don't need anybodies permission. You've survived this long as Kindred, then as a spirit.  That's resilience!"
Now, it's my turn to be frustrated. "The otherwise isn't for my sake...it's for his."
Tommy is visibly taken aback by my reply. "His?" I nod, needlessly. "
I'm not always the one running the show." As I often fear. "Or maybe it is me. I don't know. It's not always safe for Mongrel when I'm near. Especially when Sas..." I trail off, my deep set devotion to Mongrel leading me to not want to expose more than necessary about his lover.
"Especially when, what? If I'm going to help you, you've gotta let me know what's going on." 
"Mongrel has a new lover. Sasa. He lives with him and two other Gangrel that have been staying at their cabin." A muscle twitches in my cheek at mention of Law and Vivian. There's just too many damn memories around those guys. 
"Still a faggot, then? Hmph. Thought the blond would outgrow it." Thomas visibly scoffs , as if above such disgusting, and beastly, practices. I raise my brow, but neglect to comment on Tommy's blatant hypocrisy.
"Regardless, sometimes their antics are a bit difficult to...deal with." 
Being somewhat obtuse, Tommy asks "Can either of them see you?" I shake my head. "And the other Gangrel?" 
Christ, no. "Nope. Lucky them." The Giovanni chuckles, putting me on edge.

"No no no, my dear." He chortles. "Lucky you." 
"In a manner of speaking...I guess." I look at him with a cautious curiosity. "This Sasa, he and Mongrel fuck and make love? They disturb you with their insidious gall?" The volume of his voice heightens, the speed increasing. "Do they?" 
My lip curls at his crudeness. "Are you trying to make a point?" I say in a low voice.
"Do they disturb you?" Obtrusive fuck... 
"Yes. What's. Your. Point." 
Tommy seems triumphant. "Disturb them right back. Make them associate their lust with your fury. When they feed, break them. When they fuck, bury them. You're more immortal than they will ever be." 
I rub at my forehead. The priest truly is obtuse to the point. "I have. My self control is...anemic at best. I believe you've experienced that firsthand." 
Tommy leans back a bit, settling his hands on his knees. "Madelyn, would you like me to help you in this transition? Help you make the most of your transition?" 
I'm waiting for the catch. "Ye-es..." 
He smiles, satisfied. "Good. I'm assuming human contact has been an issue of yours?" 
A hint of longing in my tone, as I reply "An issue if you consider the complete lack of it problematic." 
Tommy pulls a cell phone from his pocket and fires off a text. "Forgive me, I didn't plan on needing a piece of paper tonight." He closes it, satiated in his needs. "Litany is on her way with the stationary." 
"...oh Christ..." I mumble under my breath,
"Now, to remain tangible you're going to need people to know you. Remember you. The dead are mere memories, remember that." 
Vexed by our potential company, I begrudgingly lament, "Other than yourself, Mongrel and..well other than you guys, I don't think there's anyone around that remembers me." 
"You see how we're talking? Try that. Go to the various Necropoli, jump into existence. Talk to mourning mothers or children. Talk to groundskeepers. You know those 'ghost stories?' That's you, if you're smart." At the edge of the street pulls in a screaming black car that runs up the curb. The horn beeps twice, quickly in succession.
"Mourning mothers of children I probably killed." I say, shaking my head at the approach of the car. "How will this help me?" 
"You won't be nearly as lonely. It also lets you restore your pathos as you need to. The loneliness is enough to give the Shadow a helping hand, and we can't have a Spectre version of you on the loose. I would have to tear you apart." 
A chill runs through me. "Yeah, she's a..." fucking monster. Another shake of the head. "And this will help me, ah, come back?" 
"This will help you live that long." I nod, not fully understanding, but at least aware that Tommy probably knows what he's talking about.

I quietly scoot towards the edge of the table to face the priest. "Tommy, why do you want to help me?" 
In typical Thomas Maletoni manner, he stands, dismissing my query and waving widely at the parked car. "I told the bitch to get her ass up here. I swear to Christ that I'm going to sell that little shit..." 
I stay seated, staring towards the car, not really seeing it or Tommy. I don't snap back to reality under the sound of a sharp smack alert me to Litany's appearance. Looking up in time to see Tommy pulling his hand away from the ghoul's bleeding mouth. "You fell down the front step of the house and hit your mouth on the railing. You gave me the papers and left. I love you." 
My eyes are wide and focused on Tommy as he kisses the ghoul before she flounces back the car. My god. What hell has changed in him? For the third time that night, I find myself mumbling "Christ, Tommy..." 
He places down a small stack of papers."What?" His face seems lightened, cathartic. I press my lips together, but don't comment. Whatever helps him sleep at night. Day. Whatever. He tilts his head, then gives up and proceeds to write. "Should these be rules, laws, or steps? I don't want you to think you're an alcoholic." 
I watch him write, only vaguely interested. "Are you writing me up a self help guide?" I ask, incredulous.
"Is that how you'd like to see it?" The stress returns to Thomas' eyes. He seemed a teacher with a difficult pupil.
"I mean...if it helps..." my own forehead creases with anxiety.
"That's up to you, if it helps. I mean, you've survived a decade, almost. Let's see if we can prolong that. " He looks up at me from the page, as if to set me at ease. "Okay, first. Let's make sure you're safe. 'Do not approach Kine or Kindred without Reason.' Does that sound good?"
He must think I make a habit of this. "Add in 'do not approach other wraiths' and I already have that covered." 
He seems pleased. "Wonderful. Other wraiths will hate you for your power and history. Second, the shadow can never be given a foothold. It will make you do self destructive things, like momentary possession or talking with Soul-Forgers. That's a no go." 
I wrap my arms around my midsection, protectively. "You don't say.." 
"I do, indeed." Tommy grasps my chin with his left hand and asks, "Do you struggle with the Shadow?" 
Caught off guard, a flash of fear runs through me, fading slightly as I focus on Tommy's face. "Not any more than I struggled with myself when I was alive." I hug myself tighter. "Ok, maybe a little more." Dropping my gaze to the ground. "A lot more." 
"Hm. Worse than the Beast?" He seemed honestly curious, not cruel in his prodding.
I half nod, half shrug. "There's so many different...entities...it's often impossible to gauge which is worse." It's always been a full goddamn house in here. Tommy has a moment of solitary reflection, before scribbling on the page again.
"Third, remember your Fetters. I assume that you've been haunting Mongrel for a reason other than his wondrous complexion and gaping anus?" I give the priest a weary, withering look despite my anxiety.
"I was drawn to where he was, so I guess there's more to that." 
"Do you feel that his home or his person draws you more?" 
"Really?" My expression is incredulous once more. "It's...not the house." 
"Is it something he possesses? Forgive the pun." 
I shake my head. Obtuse motherfucker. "Just him." 
"Wonderful. Protect your fetters. Mongrel cannot die, lest you're far less powerful." I feel stricken at the very idea as Tommy notates a few more things in the margins. "Any ideas on a fourth rule?"

I stare at Tommy for a moment, before placing my hand over the sheets of paper and pulling them away. "Why are you doing this for me?" 
Tommy looks up to me and sighs loudly, placing down his pen with a purpose. He closes the lighter that had been set to establish light, and purses his lips. "What do you want my answer to be, Maddie?" 
I stow the papers in my hoodie pocket and place my hands flat on either side of me. "I don't know. But I can't understand why. Do you do this for every spirit you come across? Have you done it for -any- other?" 
Tommy curses lightly in some other language, maybe Italian? His hands reignite the lighter and he pulls a cigarette from the pack in his inner-sleeve pocket. Pulling a puff of smoke from his nose and the deformed corners of his mouth, he replies. "You saw Fredrick, right? Saw what I did to him? I've known him since I was a Kine in fucking college. He was my ghoul for decades. He guarded us when we fucked in the Stadium. You remember that?" 
Case in point. What makes him want to do this for me? I drum my fingers on the table, impatiently. "I remember. Although, can't recall noticing him around." 
A mere ghost of a smile creeps to my lips. "He's still on the ground, over next to the stones. He's got enough corpus just to live. You could mold him into an obulus on your own, if you had the desire. I've been with Bernito for almost 10 years, and even that Rosselini thinks I'm too cruel."
Most of Tommy's words seem foreign to me, but I don't voice my concerns. Feeling vaguely irritated at the Giovanni's avoidance, I reply "That doesn't answer my question, Tommy." I scoot to the edge of the table where he sits, resting a booted foot on either side of him on the bench. "What do you see that is worth redeeming in me? That isn't, perhaps in poor Fredrick." Seems like a reach for the man who murdered Pyotr for being too much of a monster. 
"That's not something that I can tell you, yet."
Tommy seems distracted by something, and as I'm oblivious to the source, I place my hand under his jaw, lifting his gaze to my face. "Not something you can tell me, yet? Thomas Maletoni, that sounds like a cop-out." 
Tommy relents to my hand and peers up at me. Something in his steady gaze makes my cheeks feel as if they'd be reddened, were there blood in them. "Maybe when you're older." 
Affronted, I snap at him "I'm older than you! Boy..."  
The priest laughs and kisses my cheek, lightly. "The grey hairs scattered around on my head say differently." 
I used my leverage on his jaw to angle his head downwards, perusing the priest's scalp. "Bullshit." When he raises his head once more, I can't fight the genuine smile off my face. Even knowing it's ill advised to be so comfortable in the presence of a potential adversary. Tommy returns the smile, meeting my eyes and matching my grin. "Despite the fact that I'm slightly terrified of you, and I'm well aware that you can and would utterly destroy me, I feel..." I don't finish, but unconsciously lean in closer proximity to Tommy. "Tell me why you're helping me?" I speak softly.
"I can't, not yet." His face drifts away from me, and his smile has a hint of a quiver."I'm not ready, yet." 
I purse my lips, torn between wanting to press him further and respecting his privacy. Like he ever gives me the same courtesy. "Quite unfair as you know much about me, and what you don't know you can force out of me." 
"I'll tell you, and I'll do it soon. We need to get through this, though. I need to set you on your way."

I exhale, loudly and unnecessarily, but let it slide. Tapping my boot on the wood underneath him, I speak sincerely. "Regardless, I appreciate you doing this for me. I...I'd probably be pretty lost on my own." 
His eyes drift away from mine. "We're all lost on our own. That's the idea." Again, the priest seems distracted.
I continue tapping my foot, "Are you lonely, Tommy?" 
He replies quickly, "I wouldn't say so. I'm constantly surrounded by people, I've got a TV show, two ghouls. It's a decent life." 
Hmm. Even when he does give a straight answer, it doesn't ring true. I know he was lonely before, pretty sure that's what saved him from tasting my chainsaw after Pyotr... My thoughts are briskly interrupted at the feel of his hand above my knee, nails digging in gently. "We just need to get things back to the way they were." 
My breath draws in, deeply and I look down to his wandering hand. My foot stops tapping it's rhythm. "Ah, yes." I blink a few times, realizing I have no idea what I just uttered agreement to, and knowing Tommy...
He smooths his palm further up my thigh. "I'm glad you agree. So, are you ready to start?" His cold touch sends a shiver through me, and once again my response is distracted.
"Start? Oh. Right...yes."
He reaches for his paper, forgetting I stowed it in my pocket. "It's important for you to use Mongrel to find Necromancers that can help you. Ones that won't torture or enslave you." 
I'm not fond of how he's wording this plan, but seem unable to voice as such. "And other than yourself, how will I know which ones won't do just that? Even more important, how will Mongrel know?" My voice comes out as if I'm short of breath.
Tommy begins reaching into my pocket, still grasping within my skirt with his other hand. "Life for Mongrel will be miserable of you're doing your job correctly. Torture the little shit and he'll be forced to look for help. If he's smart, he'll try to get you banished, but I doubt he is. Hell, you could always dominate him to look for a necromancer who's willing to help." 
I press my hand to my pocket, restricting access to that cavity. I'm once again put off by his words. "I don't want to make his life miserable. Can't I just...ask him?" Realizing that would mean manifesting for the Gangrel, I mumble, "Or something else?" 
"Torturing him isn't just for your sake, it helps your Shadow. Keeps it appeased." He shakes his head. "No, torturing the Gangrel is essential." I feel him move my underwear aside under my skirt.
Long unused muscles jump along my inner thighs and it's a struggle to hold my concentration. "I...I don't know if I can do that, Tommy." 
His name comes out as a mixture of a sigh and a moan. The priests' hand moves deftly against the my skin. He chuckles as he speaks, "It's easy, Maddie. You just prevent him from feeding by dementing him. Your arcanoi is powerful." 
Goddamn it, he's making this difficult on purpose. I shudder. "Physically easy, yes. But...I don't wish harm on Mongrel. Usually." I continue, quietly.
"It's not a matter of wishing. You'll do what you have to." Tommy presses his long fingers within me.
"I have to?" I gasp. I lean back slightly, propping my weight back on my left hand. "That is...a welcome distraction." No, it isn't! Keep your damn mind in the game! 
"You do. There's a reason that hauntings occur, those wraiths have figured the game out. They display their strength, secure their fetters." As he speaks, Thomas speeds his probing.
"But.." I lean forward again, grasping Tommy's arm. "You're making it very difficult to hold a conversation. Or argue with you..." Which is likely the point. 
Tommy laughs loudly and withdraws his fingers. "I'm sure I am. It's good that you're not arguing, though." 

I shake my head, as if to clear it. "Is it? Because I'm still not keen on this idea, Tommy. Despite what mistakes he's made, Mongrel doesn't deserve torment. Even if it's torment exacted by the one he's wronged." I don't like speaking these truths aloud, and it shows on my face,
"This isn't about deserving, Madelyn, this is about necessity. He not only deserves it, you deserve it." 
I don't directly argue the point. "And if I can't?" 
Tommy looks away for a moment, then returns to staring with a look of pain behind his eye. "You will, whether you can or not. Madelyn, I care about you enough to do something you'd rather I not. And I fucking swear I will." His barely veiled threat frightens me, but I keep a brave face.
"Would you? Would you take away my free will? Enslave me?" I already know I don't want the answer. His silence confirms it. Rising from his seat, he kisses me and steps away from the table. "Damn you, Tommy. You can't just.." I trail off, knowing very well that he can. "Why does it have to be like this?" 
He comes back towards me. "Because you don't want to be dead, do you?" He grabs me by my hair, almost ravaging my scalp with his Potence. "You want to live? To go back to the way things were?" 
I grab at his wrist, my strength incomparable. "I want you to stop treating me like your fucking ghoul every time I say something you don't agree with!" The pain from his grasp doesn't distract from the agony I feel in my chest. "Of course I want to live, I HATE being this! You'll pardon me if I show a little hesitance towards hurting someone I lo...care about." What is it he can't understand about this?! 
"Do you think I would have stayed around this long if I didn't care about you? What's that little shit doing for you right now? He's happy you're gone! I'm trying to save you!" He chokes up after the last word, letting go of me. "Don't you fucking dare act like I'm doing anything but helping you." 
Speaking aloud the thought that I've been quietly fearing, I find myself unable to retort. Pressing a hand to my aching scalp, I hang my head. "I -know- you're trying to help. And I'm trying...you have no idea how hard I'm trying." I fight the old urge to curl into myself.
His rage doesn't abate as he responds, "I won't give you up, not now that you're back. Every person I've seen die, every soul drank out of them, for you to come back? I won't let you get in the way of that. Not on your fucking life." 
I risk a glance at Tommy. "I can't understand your devotion to this." Studying him with sad, tired eyes, I realize I won't get my way against him. "I'll do as you ask, Tommy. And if I can't, you'll...do what you do." 

I give a resigned sigh and speak low, under my breath. "Then try lashing out at me once I come back and get my goddamn chainsaw..." 
He gives a light chuckle, slowly calming down. "I'm sure you will, Maddie. Don't worry, though. I've no plans to take your will from you, you're too dear to me for that. You need to understand the plan, though." 
My brow furrows at mention of me being 'dear' to him. What the hell does that mean? And what is with his fucking mood swings? "Fine. What's the plan then, Tommy?" 
He gestures towards me. "Well, most of it is in your pocket. The rest is pretty simple. You let Mongrel know that you want to come back. Hint that it's possible. Torture him. The path reveals from there." Still not comfortable with Tommy's plan, but wary of rousing his anger again, I simply nod. Dropping my eyes, I stare at the space between my feet. "Are you all right, Madelyn? Is there something else troubling you?" 
Tommy seems obtuse to my sentiments. I continue my blank stare. But, is he not right? What am I now, but nothing? I can't continue like this...I deserve more. Another chance. To fuck up...whatever. And if Mongrel has to be hurt in the process... When I meet his gaze, there's a hardened, cold look in my eyes. "Never, and always." I laugh a bit. "But when have I ever let that get in my way?" Often. So often. Hell if I have to admit that. 
His expression is almost paternal as he replies, "I don't think you're that bad off, Maddie. I think you'll do fine." He speaks with a knowing tone and with a creased brow. "This is only going to make things easier for you." Y
ou moron. What do you know. "Easier. Right." I stare down the priest. "I'll do what I need to, but I have a condition." 
Tommy smiles, reaching a hand out to me. "Go ahead, Madelyn." 
I stare at the offered extremity, tempted to ignore it. When I do take his hand, I grip it firmly. "Mongrel must never know that what I do to him is of my own free will. I can make his unlife hell in a way no one else can.." an uncharacteristically cruel smile crosses my face and my grip on Tommy's hand tightens. It doesn't feel like my words coming from my lips. Just as quickly the smile fades. "Mongrel believes I'm possessed or being controlled...I wish for him to stay under that impression." 
"And, obviously, you are to be saved from it only by bringing you back. This force only lets you away for small amounts of time. Only enough to tell him to go find you help." Tommy smiles, finally confident that I've come to my senses. I'm pleased, for now, having expected him to argue or berate me once more. Circling my fingers around his wrist, I pull him in closer proximity.

"Have you ever cared for someone in an excessive manner, Tommy? In such a way that if you deliberately hurt them it would destroy something in yourself?" 
He leans in to my ear and whispers, "Yes, Lady Malkavian." 
Hmph. There he goes with his etiquette. I refuse to crack a smile, despite the urge to. My hand trails up his arm to grip the back of his neck. "How'd that work out, Thomas?" 
I hear the smile in his voice when he replies. "She died, and I evolved." 
Curiosity piqued, I inquire, "Care to share the story, Thomas?" 
"No. I'd rather hear about how you're enjoying your triumph over death."
I'm not surprised by his unwillingness to disclose. "Stubborn, secretive bastard...aren't you?" 
He laughs, pulling away from me. "It's not often you'll see a priest in the confession booth." 
If I'm not mistaken, I think my inquiries make him uncomfortable. I smirk at his retreat. "Not used to interrogations?" 
"It's only an interrogation if I'm being forced" 
Oh Tommy, I would if I could. I chuckle at myself. "Again, I wish for my chainsaw...and maybe some barbed wire. Why not just tell me?" 
He sits adjacent to me once more "It's not anything relevant to you, Madelyn. You didn't know her." 
"As if half the things you know about me are relevant." I lean back on my elbows, peering at the priest from under my bangs.
"I'm not indebted to you, Madelyn. I don't owe you anything." He seems mildly annoyed and his brow furrows and creases in his frustration. What is it with everything being a debt to pay? "I'd rather we focused on what you're doing from here." 
So damned stubborn. "Never insinuated that you did. You sure have gotten quick-tempered over the years, haven't you Tommy?" Despite the derisive tone in my voice, I reach to his face and attempts to smooth his brow with my fingertips. "What -am- I doing from here?"

The return of his anger is diminished. "You're listening to your old friend." He softens his tone and places a hand on my own. "Your old lover. You're doing whatever it takes to progress to get back to the way things were." 
Old lover...amazing how there's more than one of those hanging around, lately. The way things were, indeed. I shake my head, ruefully. "Perhaps sans the infant consumption and suicide attempts." My own brow furrows, but I laugh off the statement.
"Sans infant consumption? I wasn't aware you spoke Latin." His chuckle seems to reflect his calming mood. "Everything is going to be okay, Maddie. You won't have to anything you don't want to. No Beast, no Malkavian Madness, no Shadow." His change in demeanor pleases me.
"No madness? It's been so long, I don't even know if there's much Madelyn left under the madness." 
A truly curious statement. "Well, if you're damned crazy underneath that dead skin, you'll still be crazy. But crazy can be endearing. I remember enjoying your crazy once upon a time." 
My eyes go distant. I'm aware of what I was, what I started as. It seems so far away..."Tell you the truth, I don't remember if I was crazy before..." I cut myself off. No reason to bring that up. Quickly changing the subject, I continue, "It takes crazy to enjoy crazy. While most don't eschew their sanity on a massive scale, I think everyone loosens their grip once in awhile." 
"Not everyone. Some of us can't afford it. And some of us need to embrace it for a little while longer." 
Amused, I ask the priest, "What category do you fall under?" 
Tommy looks perplexed for a moment. "The first, obviously." 
I turn my face away to hide my smirk. "Obviously.." I reply, drawing the word out.
"Are you willing to be crazy for a while longer? Cruel, even?" 
My face turns back to him, unsmiling. "I told you I would. I'm adept at cruelty. I had a good teacher." I push aside the painful, flickering memories.
"I'm hoping that's not directed towards me, but I understand if it is." Now it's my turn to look perplexed.
"You?" I laugh a bit. "No, Tommy. I'm not referring to you. I don't see you as excessively cruel. Just kind of an asshole." I speak the insult with affection.
"I'd like to think I'm just proactive. Being an asshole is sort of important in that." He pauses. "You know, I really have missed you."

The last statement takes me by surprise. "You sure about that sanity thing?" I tentatively rest my hand on Tommy's. "It's strange, but welcome. Being missed." Surely Tommy had better things to do. 
"I'm sure that you didn't think of me while you were running around, being dead and all. 
But you've always been around." 
"Ah jeez, Tommy." I shift about, uncomfortable. "There are very few people that I miss. Even fewer that I give a shit about. You fall under both categories. Why else would I show myself to somebody for the first time in ten years..." Why indeed...Maddie? 
"Because I have something of yours. A fetter. Don't I?" 
Oh yes, that MUST be it. "Yeah. Maybe." No. "Doesn't mean I had to talk to ya." From his pocket, he pulls my well worn and well loved iPod.
"True. I had no intention to destroy the iPod. Although, it's starting to die out on me." 
The sight of my inanimate friend and the fact that he still has it makes me smile. "Didn't actually think you'd hold onto it. I imagine it's a bit outdated." 
"Money's been tight, these days." Skeptical, I watch as he flicks it on and the pixels dance across the screen. "I'm not sure that there's someone that could tinker on this for me." 
"Most would probably advise you to trade it in. Get one of those iPod Touch...things." I yearn to hear the comforting sounds of my vast play list, just for old times sake.
"If this is thrown away or broken apart, a piece of your soul with rip." 
This brings me from my material reminiscing. "Pretty glad you hung onto it, then." I reply, nervously.
"I knew that there was something mystical to it. I thought, perhaps, that it was a node of some sort. But you're here, and it's still around."


(TO BE CONTINUED...EVENTUALLY)