Rated PG for vampire content and A for angst --
please bail now iffn you don't like that sort of thing.  This is in response
to the Undead Benny (aka Forever Fraser) challenge presented to us by
Catalina Dudka. 

comments . . . vampires . . . A's on my exams . . . comments

Across
--by AC Chapin

Things they said:

     "Look at me."                                 
                         "Here.  Oh my god."
               "Now."
"These scars . . . "

            "Shh.  I'd do it again.  If you asked me, I'd do it again."

          "Ray."
                                  "I can't, I -- "
          "Yes."
                      "Please, I -- I can't stop."
          "Yes."
                                            "Yes."
"Like this.  Let me hold you."
                          "Benny, your *teeth*."
                "Do you trust me?"
				
Ray leaned back in his chair.  When he closed his eyes he could
picture the sunset, outside the curtained window.  Already he was feeling
the biting (ha-ha) need for a little of the old red rum.
	He lifted the bottle.  Good.  Damn, it was so good.
	Fraser wandered in from the bathroom, wrapped in a hotel 
robe.  Ray threw the bottle at him and what was left at the bottom splashed
redly down the white terry cloth.
	"Now, Ray --"
	"Sorry."
	Fraser disappeared back into the bathroom, sighing 
long-sufferingly.  When he  came out again, the robe was damp but beautifully
white again.  
	Things worked that way for Fraser -- things that should have 
stained came clean again.  Well, not this time.  He ignored Fraser for
a solid hour, and then it was dark enough outside that he could open
the window blinds, and he stared out into the evening and 
ignored Fraser some more.
	Finally, Fraser got dressed and left.  Ray watched a stupid 
nudie flick on the pay channel until he realized he was more turned on
by the sweet curve of Candi's neck than her long legs.  Then he flipped
it off, disgusted.
	Fraser got back hours later, carrying a grocery bag.
	"Where'd you go?"
	"The supermarket butcher's counter."
	"Oh, great.  What? Did you tell him you were a vampire Mountie 
with a growing family to feed?"
	"The young lady at the counter didn't ask me to explain."
	"Yeah, she probably supplies all the vampires in Chicago."
	Fraser stuffed the whole grocery bag into the cooler he'd 
bought the night before.  "We should leave Chicago soon."
	"We?  Excuse me?  No, Fraser.  Tomorrow I'm going home."
	"Ray, you know that's not possible."
	Ray slouched further down in his chair.  "Shut up, Fraser."
	"Really, Ray.  Be reasonable."
	"Reasonable?"  He stood up.  "I just refilled a Nestea bottle 
with blood and drank it, Fraser.   My eyes glow in the dark.  
Yesterday I got a second degree sunburn from standing too close to the
window.  Reasonable would be me strangling you -- only it 
wouldn't do any good, would it?"
	Fraser looked away, stared out the window.   "Things have 
been ending too soon my whole life, Ray."  His voice was so terribly
quiet. 		Before, he would never have been able to hear anything so quiet.
Before . . . but before was gone.  Ray sat back down.
	"My time with my mother ended too soon.  Whenever I made any 
friends my grandparents would move the library.  I let my chance to know
my father pass by.  With Victoria -- "
	Ray looked at his hands -- too pale.  "That's *life* Fraser."
	"No, Ray.  That's death.  You're the best friend I've ever 
had, and now you can't die.  I am not going to apologize for that." 
He looked through the window into the dark, with those clear hopeful
eyes.  Eyes that glowed.  
	"We did a lot Fraser, sure, it was fun.  It was great.  But 
what about my life?"
	Fraser frowned.  "You'll live forever."
	"You don't get it, do you?  You think running around after 
you and filling out reports on your stunts was my life."  He 
looked at his watch.  "It's quarter to twelve, Fraser.  What day is it?"

	"Tuesday."
	"Okay.  Tuesday.  In fifteen minutes, Frannie sneaks 
downstairs with a tape she rented.  I dunno, could be anything, 
romance, comedy, anything, doesn't matter.  And she sits there and watches
it.  About half past one, I wake up, maybe it's when she stops the tape
or when she starts to cry, but I wake up and I go downstairs.  I hold
her and I tell her it's going to be okay, and then I walk her up to bed,
and then the next day I take the tape back.  I don't know what it's about
and I don't know why I do it, but I do it.   Because that's my *job*
Fraser.  *That's* my life." 	"Ray -- ."
	"Who's doing my job now, Fraser?  Why'd you have to do this?"
	"Oh Ray."
	Ray dug in the cooler and pulled out a tupperware container 
full of blood.  He pulled back the lid a little and drank.
	Good.  Oh christ.
	"Look at me, Fraser.  I spend my whole life trying not to 
end up a drunk like my father."  Another swallow.  "Just look 
at me now."
	"It's not the same, Ray."
	"The hell is isn't."

Things they saw:

The Parthenon, Fraser explaining the Greek perfection of its 
proportions.

The Sistine Chapel, from the outside.

The Great Wall, walking its whole length over the course of 
nights, burying themselves under it before daylight.

Tenochtitlan, smelling, even now, the blood on the stones there.

The sunrise, hand in hand one morning, somewhere where the snow 
made everything bright.

"Across" copyright 1996 by AC Chapin
For Catalina Dudka.


Return to the Due South Fiction Archive