Sleep Noise

Smoked Out

Atticus woke up to dishes clanging together and was immediately annoyed. Fucking Delaney and his incessant need for a clean house... He left his room in a torn pair of boxers and a cloudy disposition.

“Morning, sunshine,” Delaney mumbled, hearing Atticus shuffle into the kitchen. It was 8:46 P.M.

“Yeah. Do you have to do that?” he asked sourly. His best friend looked up from swishing a sponge around a glass.

“Do what? Wash this glass specifically?” He lifted it from the sink and grinned, a wavy lock of brown hair falling into his eyes.

“Wash any of them. This house echoes and it's fucking early.” He slumped down onto a kitchen chair, rubbing his arm and yawning. Delaney frowned with wrinkled eyebrows and set the glass down.

“It's not my fault you came tumbling through the door right as the sun came up. I've been staying quiet all day so I didn't wake you up.” He shook his head and continued washing. “I feel like your girlfriend.” Atticus bit his lip, a little ashamed as he stood and walked over from the dining room table. He paused awkwardly, still holding his arm.

“Need help?” he offered and he was answered with a sponge and a dirty plate. They splashed water and soap around the sink in silence for a while before Atticus broke it with a shaky voice.

“Something happened at the bar tonight,” he said looking out the darkened window above the sink. Delaney waited for the story to spill out as it normally did. Atticus rolled words around his mind, hoping they would untangle themselves.

“I ran into that Richard guy again...” He acted like he was concerned with a stained plate. “He set me up. He had this guy, this werewolf, come mess with me and I...” He stopped me again, his blue eyes hardening. “I didn't have a choice, he wouldn't stop,” he said, suddenly becoming more ardent with his words, as if he were trying to convince himself. Delaney took a long, deliberate breath.

“Why'd he set you up?” he asked as strange smell seeped into his nose but he ignored it.

It'll go away...

“He said he needed to see how I would respond or something,” he recalled, scoffing and jerking his head. “Does he have any fucking idea how any of this works?” He let the plate fall from his hand with a piercing clatter and turned. “Doesn't he know he could have killed me? Could've done the same thing to my friend who he'd never met!” The smell grew stronger and his head began to throb behind his sinuses.

“I'm sorry to interrupt you, buddy,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut and touching Atticus' shoulder, “but do you smell that?” The blonde vampire contorted his face a moment before breathing in through his nose. His eyes got wide and he forgot the breath in his chest.

“Is that gas?”

“That smells like a lot of gas.”

In the same moment, they darted away from the kitchen to the stairs, almost slamming into each other on the way down.

“Zia!” they yelled with voices overlapping. Smoke billowed from the back room across from their female roommates'.

“Holy shit.” Atticus fumbled with the steps at the sight as Delaney hustled to her door.

“Zia, are you awake?!” He burst through the door and saw her lying there with one leg off the side of her bed. He got close and shook her once before hauling the 128 pound woman over his shoulder.

“Let's get out of here.” Delaney pulled Atticus behind him as he ran up the stairs. The smoke snuck up on them, snaking through their hair like fingers all too eager. They threw the door open only to collide with a wall of flame, climbing the door frame and licking their lips and cheeks. Before they could push it closed, a deafening noise entered the house.

“What the fuck was tha- is someone shooting at us?!” Atticus erupted with panic, gripping the wooden door frame behind him.

“Looks like it.” Delaney turned and ran back down the hallway, coughing as he looked for a doorway through the dense cloud. Soot was beginning to cling to the inside of his nose, inhibiting his ability to tell where the flames were coming from. “Take her.”

Atticus accepted the limp body and stood back, unaffected by the smoke, his lungs content in their idle state. He watched Delaney as he stepped forward. The door knob was scalding, burning Delaney's hand when he tried to push through the door.

“Damn it,” he cussed, bracing himself against the opposite wall and brought his leg up, jolting the door open with a deafening crack. Wood splintered and they poured into the room, now engulfed with a blinding, bright yellow blaze.

“What are we supposed to do?!” Atticus yelled over the roar, his voice hoarse and his eyes watering, leaving clean streaks through the ash on his face.

“Upstairs.” Delaney directed.

“What are we going to do, jump? There's still a gun out there,” he argued as he ran, his skin tightening against his muscles in an attempt to distance itself from the heat surrounding him.

“Just shut up, Atti, go to my room,” Delaney demanded, laying a guiding hand on his back. They were on the second floor, overlooking the backyard. Smoke had crawled its way up the stairs. Atticus watched it follow them over his shoulder, dread gripping his throat.

“Now what?” the vampire asked anxiously, knowing they'd be trapped before they could figure out a plan.

“Now I divert his attention. He can't shoot smoke.” With that, Delaney's form dwindled; the edges of his skin softened and greyed like the air around them. His center dissipated and his eyes reddened. In a moment, he had disappeared into the shadow of the room. Atticus watched the movement of a wind through the room slop out the window and around the house.

 

Evander sat on the hood of his car, one foot perched on the fender and his 9mm resting on his thigh. He was pleased with himself. The fire was moving upward and over through the house, chasing their silhouettes across the windows.

That was fun... He turned to get into his car when he felt a denseness in front of him. Hell was staring at him, he recognized it. Spawn and operative of the Sun, Asmodeious, the creatures were pure shadow and lust. He remained frozen; knowing was slower, knowing he was dead if he made a move. His heart beat clumped in his throat as he reached for his door handle.

The electricity between his fingertips and the fiberglass spun, fear gripping him as eyes, glowing and unblinking, grew larger as they came closer through the quiet.

“Shit.” His vision went black and he felt the cold night grass dig into his palms; dampness sunk through his tailored slacks, warmth ran down his face and into his sightless eyes.