FSE

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September 25th, 2010

     Arsalan still hadn't returned by the time we'd finished our meal so I left a note for him with the bartender. Lao assured me the lion knew how to read. Then we headed out on the town. Part of me wanted to visit Lima while another one wanted to go shopping for a cane.

     I compromised by heading directly outside of the tourist section where my hotel was located. We quickly found ourselves in the old parts of the city, the ones never mentioned in the brochures, the ones with the real characters.

     I admired the buildings as we walked through the narrow streets and alleys, for once not letting the Spanish influences on them affect my judgment. Here and there I asked someone sitting by a door for a woodworker. My Spanish was extremely poor and Lao came to my rescue.

     "Don't ya know any Spanish?" he asked as we walked away from a wrinkled old woman. I just shook my head, the Spaniards weren't a subject I enjoyed talking about. "Aren't ya from Europe? Ya must have dealt with the Spanish before."

     "Yeah," I grumbled, "I did. Them and their inquisition."

     Lao looked at me, his face undecipherable.

     I sighed and looked ahead. "They got me before I learned to control my change as well as my urges and tortured me for being a demon. They weren't able to keep me long, but I swore to myself I'd never have anything to do with the Spaniards after that."

     Lao was quiet after that until we found the wood worker. He showed me he wares, small wooden seats, a few whistles, sculpted decorations made to look like Inca spirits and half a dozen canes leaning against the wall. They weren't straight like commercial ones. They followed the grain in elegant curves with knots adding details here and there.

     The one I bought still smelled of the bee's wax he'd used to stain and protect it. The handle was made from a large knot in the wood. With that in hand I didn't resist when Lao insisted we head back to the more modern part of the city. He wasn't much of an explorer.

     * * * * *

     We were close to the hotel when we found ourselves surrounded by half a dozen Peruvians. They guided us to one of the larger alleys. We could have fought them off easily, but we didn't want to attract any unwanted attention.

     At the back of the alley was a man dressed rather well, even for Lima. An impeccable white suit with black dress shoes; he even had an overcoat in this heat. His left arm was in a cast and his head was bandaged.

     He started speaking in Spanish, pointing his gun at Lao and waving it around as he gestured. I caught the word thief, car and payment.

     "Why don't we just discuss this like civilized people?" I said in English.

     His reply was to shot me. No warning to be quiet or to mind my own business, he just shot me. He was a pretty good shot, or really lucky. Without even trying to aim he'd shot me in the heart. The impact made me fall on my back.

     I didn't die instantly, but fortunately it happened before the shock passed. Pain was always the worst part of dying. Quickly the blue sky was washed to white and I felt like I was floating. I lot of people who died and came back talk about a tunnel and a light, but I've never seen that. For me it's just floating in a white place.

     There isn't any of the feeling of others either. I'm alone, just waiting until I'm healed enough to be alive again. Time here is a funny thing, one moment I feel like I've been here for an eternity and the next it feels like I've just arrived.

     Sound is absent, as best as I can tell, at least for the duration that I'm actually dead. I can tell when I'm getting close to breathing again because there's this sound that starts in the distance, like I'm getting closer and closer to a water fall. Not a small waterfall either, a big one, like Niagara falls. It gets louder and louder.

     And then I was coughing out blood and turning on my side.

     I forced myself on all four before another coughing fit hit. Once I'm done spitting blood and look at my chest. My light salmon shirt is now bright red; even my light brown vest was heavily stained with blood.

     "Damn it! These were brand new!" I forced myself to stand, ignoring the pain in my chest and turned to look at my shooter. He was as white as the others had been, but they got to flee with a look of horror on their face. Lao was holding the man by the gun arm, his own gun held under his jaw.

     I wiped the blood off my lips with a sleeve without hesitation. A little more blood wasn't going to make a difference now. It was already ruined. I eyed the man and made the skin on my face ripple.

     "Is it too much to ask to be able to wear good clothes for even a little while? I just spent three fucking years living in a tent in the middle of the jungle. This is the first day," I pushed my face against his and he reeled back, "The. First. Day. I get to wear something that's been machine washed and pressed and you just ruined it." I growled those last words.

     "I should just rip you head off and have you bleed all over those pretty clothes of yours and see how well you like it."

     The man turned even paler. He sagged against the brick wall he was being held against and lost control of his bodily function.

     "You can let him go," I growled.

     Lao released his hold and the man slid down. He then scooted sideway away from me. As soon as he could he stood up and ran off.

     A moment later I grabbed my chest and leaned against the wall.

     "Ya ok?" Lao asked with worry.

     Something I learned early on, the Spaniard were involved actually, is that a werewolf's system will fight off anything very fast; poison, illness, wounds, even death will be gone within moments. Unfortunately it also meant that the endorphin high disappeared just as fast.

     "Fucking bullet's still in my chest," I said between pained breaths. "Lung I think."

     Lao looked at me for a moment before pulling out an eight inch knife out of the sheath in the small of his back.

     "You're kidding, right?" I said as I eyed the blade.

     "Ya leave that in and ya'll be in pain for a month. Yer body can only take small bites of it. Ya won't be able to do nothing but moan and bitch about it till it's gone. This'll hurt too, but it'll be lots faster."

     He had a point. With this in my chest I wouldn't be able to do much. I'd be able to move around a bit. As long as I wasn't planning on going gallivanting anywhere I'd be fine, but Francis' missing journal was calling to me.

     "Can you at least try not to get any blood on my pants?" I don't know how it had happened, but they had managed to stay bloodless when I got shot.

     Lao nodded. "Lie down."

     I did as instructed. I grabbed a metal pipe and slipped it between my teeth. Lao kneeled next to me and opened my shirt. He didn't bother trying to work out where the bullet was. Other than the blood there was no trace left on my chest that I'd been shot and that might as well have belonged to someone else for all the help it was.

     He placed the edge of the knife against my sternum and pressed. I felt the pressure, some pain and blood pooled around the edge, but nothing else. Lao didn't have enough weight to crack it.

     There's a reason they've always used saws when opening up cadavers.

     He looked at me and then around. We were at the back of a deserted alley, far from the entrance. There were a few windows, but there was no signs the rooms behind them were occupied.

     He took off his boots, undid his pants and opened his shirt. For a moment I wondered if he was planning on getting naked. I wouldn't have minded that, having him fuck me to take my mind off the pain in my chest, but then I realize he was doing it so he could get more mass and strength.

     He shifted as he knelt. His duster strained as he bulked up. His hair rained on my chest as his fur grew and he had to adjust his shirt to deal with that on his back. When he placed the knife back against my chest the sleeves went up to the middle of his forearm.

     I caught his scent and it immediately turned me on. It always had that effect on me, the alieness of it. It wasn't the smell of a tiger, nor that of a human; it wasn't even a mix of both. In this form he quite literally smelled like nothing else I'd ever come across.

     Those thought made me miss when he brought up the knife and then down. The sound of my ribs cracking and the pain that accompanied it drove it home. I tightened my teeth on the pipe to avoid screaming. When he slipped his fingers in the crack he'd made in my sternum I tightened my jaw so hard on the pipe that I felt it crush, and teeth break.

     I actually blacked out at the pain because a sudden pain inside my chest brought me back to consciousness. He was digging around feeling for the bullet. He'd moved on top of my legs to prevent me from squirming away from him.

     I couldn't say how long I heard the squishing sound of him searching in my chest, but then he grunted and the sound stopped. There was moment of peace and quiet as I could barely feel any pain.

     And then I did scream as he forced my rib cage closed.

     Ten minutes later the pain was just a memory. The only evidence left that Lao had opened me up was the crushed pipe, the holed in the hard dirt where I'd dug my fingers in and my inability to move.

     "Next time," I said weakly, "I'm taking the month of pain."

     I turned on my stomach and put my trembling arms under me. He took me four tries before I could lift my chest off the ground.

     "Careful," Lao said as I started to move a leg under me.

     I looked and saw that I was about to drag my knee in a pool of blood.

     "Thanks.

     I slowly got on all four and then used my cane to force myself up. Lao didn't offer any help and I didn't ask him for any. Eventually I was up, leaning against the wall and shaking like a leaf.

     "On second thought, lets not do this ever again."

     We don't usually show it, not even among ourselves, but healing always takes it out of us. Minor stuff we won't feel. Broken limbs we can ignore, but regrowing one will leave us hungry. Most of us aren't reckless, even with our near invulnerability so we rarely have to deal with more. At least I hadn't, until now. I was famished. My shaking was caused equally by the stress of what had happened and hunger.

     I took off my jacket and shirt and used them to wipe as much of the blood as I could and then tossed them.

     I tried to walk on my own, but even with my cane I was too unsteady so I asked Lao to help. I wasn't so vain that I'd let myself fall face first rather than ask for help.

     "Ok, I need to get some food in me," I said as we left the alley, "Then I'm packing and getting on a plane for Paris." I looked behind us. "This place as just lost its charm."