Ch 5 In Which there is Frozen Hell
Story: The Immortal Labrat
Ch 5 In Which there is Frozen Hell
Disclaimer: I don't even own my muses as is evident by the fact that they keep abandoning me. So other than Deb and David and other's you don't know, I own nothing, no highlander, no csi, nothing. So...Moving on.
Ch 5 In Which there is Frozen Hell
He felt no pain. Greg was surprised. This didn’t feel like heaven: too cold. So if he was alive, why didn’t he feel pain? Getting shot hurt, but there was no fuzzy floaty feeling to say he was on pain meds like after the lab explosion. Groaning at his own confusion, Greg sat up, only to yelp and fall back down as his head banged against something metal. Gaining greater awareness of his surroundings he began to panic. He wasn’t wearing cloths. He was covered only with a thin blanket, and he felt like he was lying on a slab, a slab in a refrigerator. The kind they kept in the morgue. In a panic, he felt his chest. There were things on his chest, thick threads used to hold together a body after the y-incision. There weren’t in him, thank God, just laying on his chest. He had a heartbeat, rapidly working along with his lungs until he hyperventilated and passed out.
When he woke again, he was still in the cold box. It hadn’t been a horrible nightmare. He had died and was now trapped in his body. This was a hell he had never imagined. Slamming his hands above his head, he tried to force the door open. Nothing worked. He screamed his throat bloody and passed out again from the terror.
One more time he woke. Greg was too numb and cold and scared to panic. He just laid there and shivered. Before he was about to pass out again from the cold and the fear and the hunger (He was so hungry!), the door swung open. The drawers slid out, he blinked at the too-bright lights and suddenly Greg was clutching a warm LIVING body, pressing himself mindlessly closer to that warm proof that he wasn’t in some frozen forensic Hell.
“I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’ve got you. Alright, Gregory, you’re safe.”
The words repeated over and over until he finally registered the voice saying them. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away so he just whispered into the warmth.
Arms tightened around him.
“Yes. We must go before the coroner wakes up. Can you stand?” she asked.
Coroner. Nononononononono! He was still dead! The coroner would find his body outside the box and put him back in!
There was a horrible keening in the air. Greg didn’t register it was him making it before fingers pressed down on either side of his neck and he lost consciousness once more.
*A short time before*
Deb made her way to the women’s restroom of the club, dialing her twin’s number. On the small sofa inside, she collapsed cheerfully, only to stiffen at the feel of an immortal in the club. She’d have to make the call fast.
“Twin,” David said as soon as he answered. “Felicia Martin is in Vegas hunting Watchers and Pre-Immortals. Old Man wants us to do something about her.”
“There’s an Immortal in the club. I just felt her. Not sure if it’s Martin or no, but I need to get back to Gregory in either case. I’ll keep an eye to the watcher with me,” she said, already standing. “Hands on your sword.”
“Head on your shoulders,” he replied, and they both hung up.
With a sense of horrid foreboding, Deb hurried out of the restroom, looking for Greg. Not finding him at the bar, she glanced around the room. No sign of the other Immortal either. Hands on the sword…Deb rushed out of the club and stealthily retrieved her sword and gun from her motorcycle. Pushing back her concern for Gregory she focused on the Presence of the other.
The sensation led her to an alley just in time to see Gregory fall before the eighties reject that was Felicia Martin. Without thought or without warning, she walked up behind the stupid bitch and lobbed off her head. The stupid little whore should have felt her and been on guard. Deb braced herself and let the relatively weak quickening wash over her. Weak though it was, Deb was exhausted and…well…horny afterward. Shaking it off, she picked up Martin’s body and, with sheer willpower, carried it up a nearby ladder that lead up to the roof. She hurried back down and then threw the head up to join the body with a nice football style pass. Muscles aching she turned back to Gregory’s body, ready to grab him and get him out when she heard the sirens.
“Shit,” she swore. Thinking fast she grabbed Martin’s gun and emptied the cartridge into Gregory. Hoping that would keep him out longer, she wiped down the gun, dropped it, and scrambled back up the ladder, pulling up behind her as she went. She just narrowly missed being seen as the police swarmed the alley, finding only the body of Gregory and the gun. None of them ever looked up, but one of the crime scene investigators almost spotted her when he did. The shroud eyes skimmed the top of the alley but fortunately didn’t send any one up to look. There was no way she’d have been able to hide Martin’s body plus herself.
“Gil,” a woman with strawberry blond hair shouted at the man. He turned calmly. “It’s Greg.”
The calm vanished. Mentally swearing in as many languages she knew, Deb realized that these people knew Gregory. She would not be able to get him out of their hands so easily, but she watched Gil’s face crumble in numb grief when he saw the lifeless body of his…friend, coworker? She didn’t know what Greg did, damn it!
Frustrated, she watched him bundle Greg’s body into an ambulance while the rest combed the alley. She ducked quickly when Gil’s flashlight hit her location again. She heard him say, “I want to see what’s up there.” And she started sweating.
Quietly, but swiftly, she carried Martin and her head to the opposite side of the building and, seeing only one person, breathed a sigh of relief and dropped the body over the side. The man below jumped, but continued but spotted her and gestured her to come down, looking both relieved and apprehensive. Deb jumped down into a pile of trash, getting filthy, but only breaking her ankle. Ignoring the pain, she pulled herself up.
“Police coming fast, Max,” she hissed. “We have to get out of here.”
Maximilian Maxwell nodded grimly, but with a bit of surprise as well. It was in the chronicles that the twins knew about the Watchers but he’d probably never thought that she’d knew his name.
“Lauren has the van; we just have to get to her.”
“Everyone should be looking the other way. Let me check,” she said. Taking a peek around the corner she saw it was true. The crowd was gathered around watching the drama of the murder scene. Nodding to Max, they hustled all the evidence they had of the Game into a minivan not far from them and they got out of there.
“I need to get into the coroner’s office,” the Immortal told her Watchers. “As soon as possible.”