Upgrade patch for WAD 2.0...The first chapter!
Title : Wilmette After Dark - Chapter 1/10
Summary : Pete makes a harsh choice for the fight, guilted by the memory of the last time he and William tangled.
Author : Crispy the Centaur
Rating : PG. Mild police brutality.
Author's Notes : This is a bit longer than the original Chapter 1, as I added a whole new paragraph instead of just fixing up a few words here and there.
Previous Chapters : Prologue
Tick, tock, tick, tock...Ding...Ding...Ding...
The deep, morbid knell of the rusty old grandfather clock struck three in the morning. Patrick half-turned his head at the third boom, shooting a hateful glance at the old timekeeper. In all honesty, he hated that clock and it's habit of breaking the young man's concentration. Gnawing on his bottom lip, Patrick simply ignored the dinging for the umpteenth time and resumed the work on his once-again-malfunctioning Tangler Gun. Now was not the time for errors, and even though William's declaration made mention of "playing fair", there was no doubt in Patrick's mind that the Dandies were ready to go back on their words.
Like something out of a suspense movie, Patrick reached across the workbench to retrieve one of his smaller wrenches, only to see Pete standing close by. The vampire's back was turned, but his ears perked up slightly.
"Didn't mean to startle you, 'Trick."
"No, no, I'm fine," Patrick gave half a nod as he let out a long exhale. "Just, please, knock next time."
Pete didn't reply. He maintained his stance, looking out a nearby window, Roxie grasped firmly in his arms. The tick-tock of the grandfather clock repeated itself eight times before Pete spoke again. "Patrick...Tomorrow night, I want you, Joe, and Andy to stay here. I'll go to the fight on my own."
The wrench fell from Patrick's fingers, clattering onto the table. Roxie turned her head to follow the sound, but once again, Pete didn't move. Quickly retrieving the tool, the singer began to toy with it nervously. "I...I can't let you do that! If you go there alone, you're just begging for the Dandies to kill you in any way they please!"
"So be it," The tone of Pete assertion was enough to send a chill down any creature's spine. "every time we wind up tangling with 'Little Mister Fancy-Pants', we get a corpse in our hands." The boldness of his voice seemed to crack a little. "It was hard losing Dirty... What about Jim back in August, and Bonnie before that?" Roxie whimpered at the mention of her previous owner. Shaking his head, Pete scratched the tiny dog beneath her chin to calm her. "Bad enough having the heat come after us last time...But you, Patrick..." He turned his attention back to the window in a vain attempt to hide his misting eyes. "I thought you were a goner then."
Like a bad dream, Pete's mind raced back to that night.
That quartet of Temptresses...Oh, if he hadn't been so blinded by the rage that William fueled in him, Pete could have brought himself to help his friend. It was his greatest regret. Though he saw Patrick fall beneath the bites of the females, he didn't notice how bad it was during the questioning at the police station.
The four were made to sit handcuffed to their chairs in that one dank, rotten-smelling interrogation room. The bellowing of the robust chief tuned out in Pete's ears as he noticed that Patrick was swaying lightly in his seat, occasionally falling against his shoulder. The third time it happened, the second officer in the room, a much lankier one with a louder voice, grabbed Patrick roughly beneath the chin and roared in his face. There was no reply, and after a few moments, the officer released his grip with a snort and strode over to rough up Joe - the furthest one from the two. Patrick slumped forward as soon as he was let go - the only thing preventing him from falling clean out of the chair was the fact that his arms were cuffed to the rusted arms. There was a cold, tight feeling that began to wrap itself around Pete's throat - he thought at first that it might have been one of the interrogators grabbing at him again, but it was really the shock and guilt of seeing two puncture marks - vampire teeth - right over his friend's jugular vein.
"He's faking it." The chief sneered, "Probably the millionth perp to play the 'fainting trick'. I'll get 'im awake." He wound up, delivering a crushing punch to the left of Patrick's cheek. No response. A few moments passed, then the lanky officer pulled out a tazer and pressed it into Patrick's shoulder. Though his body shook from the electricity, he still didn't stir. Clearly irritated, the chief unbuckled the handcuffs and hauled Patrick's limp form down to the cellblock. Pete tried to pull out of his chair in an attempt to follow the chief, but the officer subdued him with a strong tazer shock to the back of the neck.
Pete awoke some time later, face-down on the floor of a jail cell. With a moan, he unsteadily heaved himself to his feet and stood staring blankly at the dusty wall in front of him until his vision cleared and only one thought came into his mind.
Patrick! He found the singer lying motionless on the bench in the next cell. Reaching through the bars, Pete cupped Patrick's face in his hands and pressed his own cheeks against the cold metal. Still unconsicous, ragged breathing, weak pulse, cold to the touch...Patrick was either dying or becoming a vampire. A sick, heavy feeling welled up in Peter's chest, like someone had replaced his heart with an anvil. He pressed his hands against his body to try and quell the aching, when his fingers detected something in his inside pocket. It was the small vial of holy water - the police must not have noticed it when they confiscated the rest of the group's items.
"Andy!" Pete went to the front of his cell, calling out to his bandmate across the way. "Do you still have that cloth you use to dab holy water on your knives? I think I can keep Patrick from turning."
The drummer obeyed, inspecting each of his many pockets to find what Pete requested. Producing the cloth from inside his left sock, he crumpled it up as best he could and tossed in into Pete's cell. "Are you really sure you want to use that thing, though? It's been in my shoe for almost a week now."
Shaking his head, Pete soaked the cloth in holy water and began rigorously mopping at Patrick's bite wounds. "Right now Andy, I'd be willing to use even garbage if it meant saving 'Trick."
Even after the break of dawn, and the holy water burning his hands Pete worked away as hard as he could. Although there were no windows - and no traces of sunlight - the fatigue caught up to him by mid-day. He stayed persistent for about another hour, then collapsed against the bars.
There was nothing but darkness when Pete awoke. He was back in his makeshift-coffin, and even though both his eyes and hands felt like fire, his concern for Patrick saw through that. Kicking open the lid and scrambling out, he found Joe halfway down the hall.
"Joe!" The words tumbled from Pete's mouth like rocks from a clifftop. "What happened to...Where's..."
"It was the craziest thing, Pete." Joe cut in, scratching the back of his head. "You remember that priest fellow? He showed up and bailed us out. Didn't say a thing, though."
"No, not that, I wanna know..."
"Oh, he also convinced some of the cops to use one of those big laundry baskets to haul you out. Y'know, so the sun wouldn't..."
"Where's Patrick?!"
"Ohhhhh... Patrick. Andy and I brought him to the dorms."
Before Joe could blink, he was alone.
Pete raced up the steps to the living quarters, nearly stumbling twice. There was a strange silence that followed as he entered, but sure enough, he found Patrick. Andy sat on the bedside, wringing a rag out in a bowl of warm water, so Pete joined him on his side.
"How's he been since I've been out?"
Andy shook the last few drops the rag he held, then turned to wipe at Patrick's forehead and cheeks. "Still hasn't come around yet, but he's warmed up a bit, and he's breathing a bit better." Stopping to inspect the dressings he and Joe bound around Patrick's throat, Andy mouthed some words to himself before turning back to Pete. "I still stand by the fact that we should bring him to a hospital, though."
Roughly grabbing Andy's other arm, Pete grit his teeth in apprehension. "We can't bring him there! The doctors don't know about the vampires in the city. I'll wager a warship to a willow branch that they'll only make it worse!" Pete stopped when he saw his friend wincing - during his rant, he must have unconciously dug his nails into the drummer's tattooed skin. With a pang of guilt, he released his grasp and gently took the bowl. "I'm...I'm sorry. I'll take it from here."
Andy said nothing. With a silent, sympathetic nod, he placed the rag into Pete's hand and left the room in all the manner of the North wind. Letting out a long sigh, Pete inched closer to Patrick, pulling the blanket up to his chin and brushing the stray hairs from his bandmate's eyes. Patrick shivered and gave a whimper in his somnolence, causing that heavyness in Pete's chest to stir again.
"Don't worry Patrick...I'm here."
"Pete? Pete? You there?"
Patrick's voice brought Pete out of his flashback. Hastily wiping his eyes with his free hand, he straightened his posture and put on his best 'tough' voice. "This is my fight, 'Trick." Without another word, he turned and left the room.
Summary : Pete makes a harsh choice for the fight, guilted by the memory of the last time he and William tangled.
Author : Crispy the Centaur
Rating : PG. Mild police brutality.
Author's Notes : This is a bit longer than the original Chapter 1, as I added a whole new paragraph instead of just fixing up a few words here and there.
Previous Chapters : Prologue
Tick, tock, tick, tock...Ding...Ding...Ding...
The deep, morbid knell of the rusty old grandfather clock struck three in the morning. Patrick half-turned his head at the third boom, shooting a hateful glance at the old timekeeper. In all honesty, he hated that clock and it's habit of breaking the young man's concentration. Gnawing on his bottom lip, Patrick simply ignored the dinging for the umpteenth time and resumed the work on his once-again-malfunctioning Tangler Gun. Now was not the time for errors, and even though William's declaration made mention of "playing fair", there was no doubt in Patrick's mind that the Dandies were ready to go back on their words.
Like something out of a suspense movie, Patrick reached across the workbench to retrieve one of his smaller wrenches, only to see Pete standing close by. The vampire's back was turned, but his ears perked up slightly.
"Didn't mean to startle you, 'Trick."
"No, no, I'm fine," Patrick gave half a nod as he let out a long exhale. "Just, please, knock next time."
Pete didn't reply. He maintained his stance, looking out a nearby window, Roxie grasped firmly in his arms. The tick-tock of the grandfather clock repeated itself eight times before Pete spoke again. "Patrick...Tomorrow night, I want you, Joe, and Andy to stay here. I'll go to the fight on my own."
The wrench fell from Patrick's fingers, clattering onto the table. Roxie turned her head to follow the sound, but once again, Pete didn't move. Quickly retrieving the tool, the singer began to toy with it nervously. "I...I can't let you do that! If you go there alone, you're just begging for the Dandies to kill you in any way they please!"
"So be it," The tone of Pete assertion was enough to send a chill down any creature's spine. "every time we wind up tangling with 'Little Mister Fancy-Pants', we get a corpse in our hands." The boldness of his voice seemed to crack a little. "It was hard losing Dirty... What about Jim back in August, and Bonnie before that?" Roxie whimpered at the mention of her previous owner. Shaking his head, Pete scratched the tiny dog beneath her chin to calm her. "Bad enough having the heat come after us last time...But you, Patrick..." He turned his attention back to the window in a vain attempt to hide his misting eyes. "I thought you were a goner then."
Like a bad dream, Pete's mind raced back to that night.
That quartet of Temptresses...Oh, if he hadn't been so blinded by the rage that William fueled in him, Pete could have brought himself to help his friend. It was his greatest regret. Though he saw Patrick fall beneath the bites of the females, he didn't notice how bad it was during the questioning at the police station.
The four were made to sit handcuffed to their chairs in that one dank, rotten-smelling interrogation room. The bellowing of the robust chief tuned out in Pete's ears as he noticed that Patrick was swaying lightly in his seat, occasionally falling against his shoulder. The third time it happened, the second officer in the room, a much lankier one with a louder voice, grabbed Patrick roughly beneath the chin and roared in his face. There was no reply, and after a few moments, the officer released his grip with a snort and strode over to rough up Joe - the furthest one from the two. Patrick slumped forward as soon as he was let go - the only thing preventing him from falling clean out of the chair was the fact that his arms were cuffed to the rusted arms. There was a cold, tight feeling that began to wrap itself around Pete's throat - he thought at first that it might have been one of the interrogators grabbing at him again, but it was really the shock and guilt of seeing two puncture marks - vampire teeth - right over his friend's jugular vein.
"He's faking it." The chief sneered, "Probably the millionth perp to play the 'fainting trick'. I'll get 'im awake." He wound up, delivering a crushing punch to the left of Patrick's cheek. No response. A few moments passed, then the lanky officer pulled out a tazer and pressed it into Patrick's shoulder. Though his body shook from the electricity, he still didn't stir. Clearly irritated, the chief unbuckled the handcuffs and hauled Patrick's limp form down to the cellblock. Pete tried to pull out of his chair in an attempt to follow the chief, but the officer subdued him with a strong tazer shock to the back of the neck.
Pete awoke some time later, face-down on the floor of a jail cell. With a moan, he unsteadily heaved himself to his feet and stood staring blankly at the dusty wall in front of him until his vision cleared and only one thought came into his mind.
Patrick! He found the singer lying motionless on the bench in the next cell. Reaching through the bars, Pete cupped Patrick's face in his hands and pressed his own cheeks against the cold metal. Still unconsicous, ragged breathing, weak pulse, cold to the touch...Patrick was either dying or becoming a vampire. A sick, heavy feeling welled up in Peter's chest, like someone had replaced his heart with an anvil. He pressed his hands against his body to try and quell the aching, when his fingers detected something in his inside pocket. It was the small vial of holy water - the police must not have noticed it when they confiscated the rest of the group's items.
"Andy!" Pete went to the front of his cell, calling out to his bandmate across the way. "Do you still have that cloth you use to dab holy water on your knives? I think I can keep Patrick from turning."
The drummer obeyed, inspecting each of his many pockets to find what Pete requested. Producing the cloth from inside his left sock, he crumpled it up as best he could and tossed in into Pete's cell. "Are you really sure you want to use that thing, though? It's been in my shoe for almost a week now."
Shaking his head, Pete soaked the cloth in holy water and began rigorously mopping at Patrick's bite wounds. "Right now Andy, I'd be willing to use even garbage if it meant saving 'Trick."
Even after the break of dawn, and the holy water burning his hands Pete worked away as hard as he could. Although there were no windows - and no traces of sunlight - the fatigue caught up to him by mid-day. He stayed persistent for about another hour, then collapsed against the bars.
There was nothing but darkness when Pete awoke. He was back in his makeshift-coffin, and even though both his eyes and hands felt like fire, his concern for Patrick saw through that. Kicking open the lid and scrambling out, he found Joe halfway down the hall.
"Joe!" The words tumbled from Pete's mouth like rocks from a clifftop. "What happened to...Where's..."
"It was the craziest thing, Pete." Joe cut in, scratching the back of his head. "You remember that priest fellow? He showed up and bailed us out. Didn't say a thing, though."
"No, not that, I wanna know..."
"Oh, he also convinced some of the cops to use one of those big laundry baskets to haul you out. Y'know, so the sun wouldn't..."
"Where's Patrick?!"
"Ohhhhh... Patrick. Andy and I brought him to the dorms."
Before Joe could blink, he was alone.
Pete raced up the steps to the living quarters, nearly stumbling twice. There was a strange silence that followed as he entered, but sure enough, he found Patrick. Andy sat on the bedside, wringing a rag out in a bowl of warm water, so Pete joined him on his side.
"How's he been since I've been out?"
Andy shook the last few drops the rag he held, then turned to wipe at Patrick's forehead and cheeks. "Still hasn't come around yet, but he's warmed up a bit, and he's breathing a bit better." Stopping to inspect the dressings he and Joe bound around Patrick's throat, Andy mouthed some words to himself before turning back to Pete. "I still stand by the fact that we should bring him to a hospital, though."
Roughly grabbing Andy's other arm, Pete grit his teeth in apprehension. "We can't bring him there! The doctors don't know about the vampires in the city. I'll wager a warship to a willow branch that they'll only make it worse!" Pete stopped when he saw his friend wincing - during his rant, he must have unconciously dug his nails into the drummer's tattooed skin. With a pang of guilt, he released his grasp and gently took the bowl. "I'm...I'm sorry. I'll take it from here."
Andy said nothing. With a silent, sympathetic nod, he placed the rag into Pete's hand and left the room in all the manner of the North wind. Letting out a long sigh, Pete inched closer to Patrick, pulling the blanket up to his chin and brushing the stray hairs from his bandmate's eyes. Patrick shivered and gave a whimper in his somnolence, causing that heavyness in Pete's chest to stir again.
"Don't worry Patrick...I'm here."
"Pete? Pete? You there?"
Patrick's voice brought Pete out of his flashback. Hastily wiping his eyes with his free hand, he straightened his posture and put on his best 'tough' voice. "This is my fight, 'Trick." Without another word, he turned and left the room.