Title: Grey Street
Author: Crazy_Girl_Mary
Email: crazy_girl_mary@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: female/vamp male
Feedback: It’s a beautiful thing! -crazy_girl_mary@yahoo.com-
Summary: She’s on the run but only when the man chasing her allows it to be so.
Author’s Notes: This is not a sequel to The Long Journey Into Darkness. It just follows the same theme. I hope to make this a series. This part is unlike LjiD because I had a different couple in mind, and I’m going to delve into the occurrences before the fic as it progresses.
I’m including the back story I left out in the first part of the series because I think it tends to the story, being a story in itself, and adds a different aspect, although I liked the lack of back story in the first one and the option for the reader to freely create their own to accord with the characters, so I think in the third and probably final story I’ll have it with no back story again.

Grey Street

Oh look at how she listens
She says nothing of what she thinks
She just goes stumbling through her memories
Staring out onto Grey Street
But she thinks hey how did I come to this
I dreamed myself a million times around the world
But I can’t get out of this place
Oh there’s a loneliness inside her
And she’d do anything to fill it in
And though it’s red blood bleeding from her now
It felt like cold blue ice in her heart
And all the colors mix together to grey
And it breaks her heart
You know she wishes it was different
And she preys to god most every night
Though she’s quite sure he doesn’t listen
There’s a tiny hope in her he might
She says I prey
Oh but my prayers fall on deaf ears
Am I supposed to take it all myself
To get out of this place
Oh there’s an emptiness inside her
And she’d do anything to fill it in
And though it’s red blood
Bleeding from her now
Felt like cold blue ice in her heart
And she feels like kicking out all the windows
And setting fire to this life
She would change everything about her
Using colors- bold and bright
And all the colors mix together to grey
And it breaks her heart
It breaks her heart
To grey


Part I: Wake Up Call


I stare deep into the eyes of my mother as she echoes the words she said to me what seems like centuries ago. “The only thing you’re good at is running away from your problems.” I had laughed then, at the irony of those words coming from the drunken lips of my mother, and the fact that the drunkenness was her own lame attempt to escape.

But this wasn’t the same… it wasn’t then, and she wasn’t standing in the mess of a kitchen holding a half empty bottle of scotch and a resentful scowl. Instead she is standing on top of a black mountain with black all around and I am staring up useless to help her, useless to keep her from jumping. The scream hitches in my throat as her white dress ripples behind her in her desperate dive for the ground. I close my eyes tight, bracing myself for the sound of the impact, maybe even the shake of the ground since she should only land a few feet away.

It feels like they have been closed forever and I finally open my eyes to find the dark familiar shadows of my apartment. They are much more appreciated then the shrill sound of the telephone that woke me from my dark dream. I blink a few times and the red numbers on the clock are close enough to zero on the number line to stir anger deep in my chest.

I jump out of bed and grab the phone from it’s cradle since the persistent caller doesn’t appear to be giving up anytime soon and the shrill seems to be getting only louder. “Hello?” I ask sure that the idiot on the other end has no choice but to hear my irritation.

“Hello,” the male voice answers a little too jovially to be sincere.

“You have the wrong number,” I say blandly and lower the phone from my ear. Because of the night’s silence I can still hear his reply before the phone reaches the cradle. “Are you sure?” He speaks confidently and there’s something familiar in his voice but it’s far too late to try and figure out who it might be at the moment.

“Yes,” I answer confidently, and cocky as ever.

“Why?” he asks happily.

“Because nobody I know is stupid enough to call this number at three o’clock in the fucking morning.” I can hear the threat dripping from my own voice so I know he’ll get the picture.

I go to lower the phone again but he speaks again. “Stupid enough or man enough?” The silence after his challenge stretches because my mind is racing with the possibilities.

“Who the fuck is this?” I ask. We both know by now that there’s no point in even asking but he answers anyway, just to humor me, always to humor me as much as he humors himself.

“I think you know…”

His name forces it’s way from my lips like a poisonous vapor to intoxicate an innocent world starting with the room all around me. It hasn’t been there for close to a year and damn if it doesn’t still feel comfortable coming out.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” he asks. “Did you think I would just give up? …How could I?” His questions go unanswered. We both knew he would find me, it was only a matter of time and I’ve been disappointed far too many times in my life to ever entertain a hope so great as the hope that I could live a normal life while he’s still alive and searching.

“So what’s the deal?” I demand. “I’m sure you didn’t wake me up for a little chat… What do you want?”

“That hurts,” he remarks, sounding truly crushed. “You know I love talking to you, and I had missed the sound of your voice terribly.” He waits for me to reply but I won’t speak until he levels with me, imagine that. “But yeah, you’re right, I do want something.”

“What?” I ask sharply.

“The same thing that I always want… you.” A protest forms on my lips but he continues before I get the chance to interrupt. “And just to make sure I have your full attention I’m down the hall playing with your new friend.” A chill runs through my entire body. “She’s rather cute babe, but not as cute as you, that’s why I’m offering up a trade.” I can almost feel his eyes running over my body the way they are no doubt running over Jeanine’s. “For old times sake, look nice for me darlin’, you have an hour.”

Jeanine has perky blonde curls and eyes that always smile. I had seen her around but never talked to her. I hadn’t talked to anyone for the first few months, sure that he would kill anyone I bothered to glance at. I had been taking classes at the closest college, un-matriculated with the money I had earned… well, earned in my own special way. Most of the people living in the building are also college students and I had seen Jeanine with books on occasion so I knew she was one.

Blake was one person that I had talked to, but it was mostly because he hadn’t given me any other choice. He was one of those guys, attractive but thought he was twice as good looking as he really was, therefore, he marketed his body to any female with a pulse. I know I have far more to offer then a pulse, and live conveniently next door to him, so he marketed hard for those first few months.

I had been waiting in the lobby for the elevator up when he came in the front doors not bothering to hold them for the cute blonde struggling with grocery bags close behind him… his eyes were already locked on me. I rolled my eyes and pressed the up button a little more frantically, hoping for the chance to watch the doors close in his face. No such luck, the elevator was slower then ever and not only did he make it over to me, but he even got in a few lame pick up lines and hip thrusts before the elevator sounded and the doors came open. I stepped inside and told him he didn’t stand a chance.

He persisted that he liked a challenge and ignored my insistence that if he pissed me off he wouldn’t like me much. Then I stuck a hand out and grabbed the elevator door before it shut on the blonde, eager to have another person present in the elevator to keep me from killing Blake. I asked her what floor she was going to, knowing she lived on mine but asking anyway, then I entered the number and leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes wearily and trying to ignore the things Blake was whispering obnoxiously from a few inches away where he stood.

The old elevator took far longer to go up the twenty-six floors then any elevator should and I couldn’t take it anymore. “Listen,” I said angrily, “ Give it up! I don’t date or fuck arrogant punks, and if I did you would be at the bottom of the barrel kid, so just fuck off and leave me alone already!”

He looked shocked and slightly wounded but he pulled out his sunglasses and put them on with a flourish, then prompted some lame comeback and walked out the freshly opened elevator doors. The blonde went out next and I heard her drop all three brown bags she was carrying and burst into laughter before I got into the hallway to see what was the cause. Blake had slipped on a puddle in the middle of the hall and landed face first on the hard tiles. He was frantically trying to get up and straighten himself, glaring angrily and embarrassed over his askew shades at the small blonde who was now bent at the waist by her laughter. I had to join her if nothing more then to anger and embarrass him further, and after that I had helped her pick up all the strewn groceries and carry them back to her apartment. I couldn’t help being friends with her thereafter, she was just one of those people.

Part II: We Meet Again


I never was good at following orders, I think looking in the mirror. I’ve spent all this time changing myself, hoping to become something he won’t want, knowing it’ll never dissuade him, I can’t change the way I smell or taste, and I can’t change the past that spurred his intrigue, at least I haven’t figured out a method yet. Now it seems I won’t have much more time. Time, I look at the clock, seventeen minutes after four, I’ll pay for my tardiness, hopefully Jeanine hasn’t already.

I pocket my keys and run for the door. It takes mere seconds to get down the hall and around the corner to her door. I place one hand carefully on the knob and then push it open. It reveals the dark and empty entranceway to the living room/kitchen and I tread noiselessly inside. I can see the flickering of candlelight leaking into the hallway from the living room and I know that’s where they’ll be.

“So nice of you to join us,” he says once I’m at the end of the hallway. I stare into the mirrored wall and into the terrified eyes of my friend being held captive by the invisible man. I know I have to step into the room and face him, face my fear, face my destiny, and it’s overwhelming to fear nothing more then his beauty and the way it can grab me and hold me prisoner.

“How could I resist?” I ask, stepping into the center of the room and turning to him. I’m pointing the gun at his head, we all know it won’t kill him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t use it. Still, it doesn’t make me feel at all safer or in control like I had hoped. I think that’s impossible.

He leaves my question rhetorical as intended, and comments instead on my appearance, the one I had hoped in vain he would disprove of. “Love the outfit… not my choice but the skirt looks dangerous, you could hide a lot under that skirt. And the hair, very angsty love.” I would retort that I have nothing to hide, but it would be useless, I have plenty to hide. However, they are more emotions, far too many to hide under my skirt next to the duel stake holsters. Besides, no wondrous hiding place could keep my thoughts from his view.

My appearance is dark, something he likes. Perhaps, I should’ve considered something childish, overalls and an Elmo t-shirt. A smile plays at my lips. I don’t think I could do that to myself. The truth is that I like my outfit as much as he does. It makes me feel slightly powerful in a powerless situation. Every item is tailored and perfect for the fight, I’ve been saving it for this moment, for him. The tailored trench coat, various pockets all filled with weapons to hopefully ward him off, and the matching knee length skirt, both made from the darkest gray parachute material that’s lightweight yet durable and easy to move in. My tight black tank top and knee high combat boots are also hiding a few secrets. No, it’s not the tight leather pants and duster he requested that still sit untouched in the bottom of my closet, but I’ll give him a far better fight.

As for his appearance, I had reason enough to fret; he’s as beautiful as ever. He’s wearing a sleek black suit, with a black shirt, half unbuttoned and his blood red tie is currently wrapped around his hostage’s mouth and being held fast. He’s peeking out at me over her shoulder. Her shivering body is pressed tightly against his, and the fact that she’s still wearing the day’s clothes means he’s been here for a fair amount of time, far more then I would wish on an innocent girl such as Jeanine. I guess it’s lucky she’s dressed at all. She’s starring at me, begging for help with her eyes, and it hurts my gut to see it. I had thought I was immune to sympathy.

“You were dead.”

“As always,” he answers with that smile, damn that smile. “But not in that sense, I mean did you make sure? Did you do a little glory dance in my ashes?” I’m not preparing an answer and he doesn’t wait for one. “Nope, you just ran, and you kept running, ran away from it all. You know what I think? You knew I would follow, and you liked it because you don’t know how to stop running… you don’t know how to stop what we have. It’s okay baby… I’ll stop it for you.” His voice becomes almost sympathetic, almost caring, almost believable and I sway temporarily in the out of place sentiment of it all. A muffled scream from Jeanine brings me back to the harsh reality.

“I’m not running now…”

He grins. His grin is so different from his smile, so evil, so smug. “No… but you will be… you know I love a good chase.”

“You wanna trade? I’m here. So let her go. That was the deal right?” I prompt before he gets too comfortable with Jeanine’s warm body pressed against his.

He sniffs her neck hungrily and his eyes flash revealing his nature. I wonder if she’s seen his face. The mirrors have given away his identity but has she seen that face. “Should I?” he asks then turns to me with that matter of fact look plastered all over his perfect face, the bait that reels in the fish every time, no doubt that face is what got him invited in. “I mean I could always kill her later.”

“But you won’t,” I answer surely.

“And why is that sweetheart?” he asks. I’m sure he can guess my answer. It’s not like he hasn’t heard it before.

“Because you’ll be too busy with me.”

He turns his gaze back to Jeanine and she struggles slightly as his grip tightens on her restraints. “You hear that baby? That’s one good friend you got there, offering herself up to the beast for your freedom.” He lets her go and pushes her roughly towards the door. “Run along now,” he says, his eyes already fixed on me in that permanent way, that way that says he’s already forgotten about her and her warmth, that way that chains guilt to my shoulders because I can’t help but melt a little underneath it.

She looks at me terrified, but I nod and toss her the gun. She barely manages to grab it and I wonder if she hears my instructions before she runs tearfully out the door. “If you see him, shoot him between the legs.” The door slams behind her and we’re left alone in the silence.

My eyes dart back quickly to his, fearful he’ll take the advantage to advance on me. He looks me over hungrily as always, knowing full well that that innocent shivering girl couldn’t shoot him in the balls if he was standing a foot away and begging her to. I wonder if he’ll start to play here, with Jeanine running through the halls with a gun and a twisted vampire story it’s only a matter of time before company comes knocking. Maybe if we’re gone before she comes back she’ll think she imagined it all. That maybe goes through my mind quickly knowing that the gun in her hand won’t be imagined.

We’re still staring at each other. I stick to his eyes, knowing if he plans an attack I’ll see it there first, like a cat, but his eyes aren’t afraid to wander. His hand moves out slowly. “Jacket,” he says gesturing with his hand although he’s a few feet too far away to remove it himself. He waits with it there because he knows confidently I’ll listen… eventually. “Come come dear, we don’t have all day.”

I glare and then quickly sweep the jacket down my arms, careful not to get caught in it for even a second and allow him the opportunity to take me off guard. I let it fall to the ground but he rolls his eyes and quickly gestures with his still waiting hand to let me know he wants it.

Returning a cruel smile that I hope matches or at least competes with his, I tangle one booted foot in the fabric and fling the jacket to him. As he catches it he grins at its weight. “Wonder what I’ll find in here,” he mentions idly as he lifts the fabric to his nose for a deep inhalation of my scent. He closes his eyes in a moment of ecstasy, but the moment is not near long enough to allow my escape, and even then he’s much closer to the hallway entrance now. He searches quickly through the jacket’s many pockets, and the stakes and other weapons he finds are quickly dropped behind him on the couch.

“Skirt,” he says, and his entire face shines with glee and his current dominance. “You can take it off and let me see what’s underneath or I can come over, rip it off, and find out myself.” Normally I would stand strong to his challenge, but we’re going to be leaving soon, which means I’ll have a greater chance to escape, and making a quiet getaway won’t be too easy with no clothes on, especially in this city.

His happiness spreads to other bodily regions as I unzip my skirt and let it fall to my feet. I step quickly out of it still careful to avoid hindrance and glare as he takes me in. “You’re a picture,” he says slowly, “toss me those stakes and you can put your skirt back on.”

Damn his arrogance. I grab a stake in each hand and fling them straight in his direction. He catches one in each of his own hands as quickly as I flung them, and holds them still so I can notice in humiliation the inches of empty space between their trajectory and any part of his body. “It’s disappointing that your hearts not in this.”

I lean over recklessly to pull up my skirt and cover my panties. They are small and black and sexy and I realize with disgust that I put them on for him.

He tosses my jacket back to me and I put it on. “Where are we going?” I ask only because I feel the need to say something and can think of nothing else.

He stares over at me like a father looks at his unruly daughter. I know the look because as a child my own father was generous with it. “Anywhere but here,” he says grabbing me roughly by one arm and glancing around the room. “This place is disgusting.” I wonder if he means this apartment, the whole building, or this city itself. I can’t imagine he particularly likes any of them, although I always picture him in the city. I guess that’s how I remember him best, but this is a long way from the city he once called home. I wonder if he’s angry about having to chase me so far, or just plain old angry.

After making sure the hallway is empty, he drags me out. Holding my arm tight and my body close, he’s in control, and we walk to the elevator as one. There’s no point in struggling, I can’t escape, and maybe I don’t want to. Struggling will only bring other people into the mix, people that can’t face him like I can, people I’ll have to have on my conscience.

He pushes the button with his free hand and as usual the elevator is taking forever. We both look down the hall as a door opens, and he grips my arm impossibly harder and my eyes water with the pain. The bell rings and the doors slide open and he pulls me impatiently inside. He pushes the down button quickly and the doors begin to close. I’m temporarily thankful that whoever came out into the hallway didn’t make it to the elevator to bear witness to our brutal activities, or be another potential victim when a large white hand grabs the door and pulls it open.

He pulls me roughly up against his body as the couple enters the elevator in a passionate embrace. Blake and this week’s brunette are dressed for a night out and smell like they both have quite a few drinks under their belt. The elevator starts down and his lips graze my ear as he stares excitedly at the show over my shoulder. The couple is all wrapping legs and breathy moans for a few seconds and I can feel his excitement growing, swimming off of him in waves and slamming into my body, calling me. It’s going to be a long night.

When Blake notices me, he pulls his lips and hips away from the girl and turns to me. He looks me over appreciatively despite his present companion and mine. He’s going to get himself hurt. He drops his date’s hand and looks for the first time to the man behind me. I can feel his muscles flexing against my back, he’s preparing for the fight. “You could’ve been with me baby,” Blake says before blowing me a seductive kiss and turning to the opening elevator doors. The girl doesn’t look as surprised as I know I do, considering he has been off my back for a while.

He growls low in his throat and starts to follow his new enemy out of the elevator, his grip on my arm and sexual excitement completely forgotten. It only takes me a second to decide that even though he’s an asshole Blake’s life and the life of his date are far more important to me than my own. I run quickly in front of him, knowing that the couple he’s after have turned around and prepared for the confrontation I’m determined to deter. I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him close to me, then kiss him with all the passion and hatred and anger I can muster, kiss him with one leg propped high on his hip until I can’t breath anymore. When I pull away and look into his eyes, they are pleasantly surprised and turned on, and he leans his lips down to lick mine once more before taking my hand and leading me out onto the sidewalk, not bothering with another glance at the couple.

I want to scream, how I just saved that little shit’s life, I want to tell that dumb girl to find a new guy. I want the whole world to know that I’m trading my own life for any he might have taken instead. I want to scream to the whole world that it’s my fault he isn’t dead, that it’s my fault because I can’t kill him, so he continues to live. I just want to scream, scream at the top of my lungs, scream about everything.

I don’t scream at all, I stare straight ahead, and he notices this inner-angst and tightens his grip on my hand as if I would run. Run where and to what purpose? So he can find me again, so he can be angry, so he can decide to torture and maim and murder before my very eyes and name me the cause. He has saved that torture so far. He must know as well as I do that having other peoples lives on my conscience is a guilt that I don’t know how to bear.




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