Chapter: Fly

Jerry looked through the darkness, trying to find out what woken him up. Was it a dream? No, wait! A sound came from across the room, faint, and barely audible. He looked at the sleeping people all around him, the entire crew quartered in a hall. No one but he was awake. He pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. What was that sound? The wind howled as the snow hurled against the windows, but Jerry ignored it. Slowly, he padded barefooted across the floor, and laid an ear against the door to the hallway. Not a sound could be heard.

A rustling behind him slowly took over as the dominant sound near him. Small feet on the carpeted floor, shuffling around a bit and a child coughing lightly.

"I'm hungry," a voice said. True, a child that was. Behind him stood a girl, about the same age as Rose, perhaps a bit younger. Her blond hair was braided and her gigantic, blue eyes rested inquiringly on him, as if he was her meal and she could not decide whether he would taste good. In her arms she held a teddy bear, but no child would have treated its toy like that. Stuck in its belly were scissors and ritual daggers judging from their shafts. Its eyes were needles and the mouth had been slashed open to display the cotton inside, mixed with old rat intestines, giving off a decaying odour.

"I'm hungry," she repeated, approaching him, step by step, faster and then she vanished into thin air just as she was about to collide with him, sizzling to the floor like dust settling in a room that had just been disturbed by a draft. The vapour was black like night and swept away from his feet and into the dark corners of the room when a quiet hum came from the other side of the door. A child, probably a little boy, humming as he skipped down the corridor outside. Still, nobody moved or responded to the sounds, as if a nightmarish landscape had come true. As if they were dead.

Jerry stumbled away from the door, startled, but soon straightened himself. The apparitions did not appear to be able to harm him. He opened the door slowly, and stepped into the hallway. A chill ran through him, and he wrapped his arms around himself. He had to see if the cameras had caught anything this time, and delete it if they had. He hated that he had asked about the hauntings because Mr. Hardy had thought it was a good idea to spice up the show. He walked towards the west wing, senses on alert.

At the end of the corridor, a figure of a kid running straight from the one side to the other, disappearing into the wall, appeared to him, followed by a giggle. Outside the snow crushed itself against the windows, blocking the faint light that came upon the world whenever it became clad in frost. He did not get far though when around the corner came Isobel, clad as always ready for a prominent ceremony, but for now just passing through the mansion, her purse clasped in her hands. She paused and looked slightly surprised before putting up a gentle smile, her green, warm eyes gleaming in the pale light from the snow.

"Oh, you must be Jerry, right?" she said and approached slowly, her stilettoes not making the faintest sound against the carpet. "You put up the cameras in my room, correct?" she stopped in front of him. "Are you lost?" her voice was innocence itself though she corrected her dress and accidentally displayed a snippet of her lingerie underneath. Her auburn hair fell over her face and she tossed it out of the way with a grin at him. "I totally understand you, this mansion has driven me crazy for years!"

"I couldn't sleep" he said, glad he normally slept in pajamas pants and a t-shirt. It would have been quite embarrassing to be caught out of bed in next to nothing. "I thought I heard a noise, and perhaps I not quite awake yet, but I could have sworn I saw..." He looked towards where the child had disappeared. "Never mind that. What are you doing up, Ms. Darklighter?" he smiled at her, but his thoughts were of where he could find a handheld camera, so he could document happenings in the house, while humans where present. If a case was to be made with the council's help, then he needed proof.

"Nobody but the family can sleep in this crazy house," Isobel said with a laugh and grabbed him by the elbow in a very decisive manner as she led him down the corridor and to a little sitting room with a few couches and, miraculously enough, fire in the fireplace. But compared to the others, her fingers were warm now. She had just dined.

"I've just come home from a convention in Vienna, from a conference about ecological cosmetics," she explained and began undoing her diamond earrings, bracelet and necklace before pushing off her stilettoes by the fireplace and stood now like an almost ordinary, but very beautiful, goddess of love. She turned and gently pressed him down into a couch. "Be right back, darling, I know just what you need to fall asleep," she said and went to a small tea kitchen at the back of the room where she fixed two glasses with a transparent liquid. She returned and handed him his share as she sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. "My brother makes this. His own recipie. I guarantee you, you'll sleep soundly," she raised her glass. "To a good night's sleep."

"To a good night's sleep," he chorused, before downing the liquid. "How did the conference go? I didn't think you'd be back for another 2 days?" he asked, and sat back in the couch, getting more comfortable. He probably would not catch anything tonight, anyway. The fire flared for a second, as a gust of wind found its way down the chimney.

"Oh, it was all right. The usual fuss of formalities, but that's what we Darklighters are all about, isn't it?" she beamed. The light shimmered in her eyes as they rested on him. Poor thing, scared but surprisingly curious. She had heard the other crew members talking about not wanting to go to the bathroom in the night because of what they thought they heard and saw, and here he was, wandering around alone in the corridors. She was slightly amused by his courage and had to give it to Matthew when he had mentioned the tech manager's personality traits. There was something not human to him.

"I came back earlier because of the snow. They say the roads might close so far out as we are in the country, and my family means everything to me during the holidays. What about you, Jerry, you have any family to celebrate Christmas with?" she sipped her drink again, eyeing him over the brim of the glass, fluttering her lashes, pouting her lips slightly to let the light catch the shimmer of her new, dark red lipstick. She knew what Matthew had asked of her, and she would do as she was told. She knew the reward was not worthy of being thrown away.

"I have a beautiful girl in my life," Jerry replied. He had gone to the little tea kitchen and searched the cupboards until he finally found what he was looking for. "My daughter," he grinned at her, holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was not blind. He knew when a woman was flirting with him, and Isobel sure did know how to do it. He sat down again, and poured a measure into his glass. "I didn't know they said the storm could become that bad," he mused, while slightly swirling the amber drops. "We might have to extend our stay with a few days, if it's as bad as that." He offered to fill her glass, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth and she accepted his offer gladly, tossing a strand of wavy hair out of her face. She smirked, almost mimicking Matthew's, but hers was somehow more genuine. She leaned forward making sure her cleavage would be accentuated by both pressure and the glow of the flames. Outside the storm howled. Yes, it was going to be bad, thanks to Vladimir.

"Your daughter?" she asked and sipped her drink. "How old is she?" she considered whether to sit down beside him and ended up doing so, facing him politely interested and still measuring how well the light looked on her from the angle where he sat. He was not the only one to know how light and angles were best set up. She was an expert on it, like every other Darklighter. It was called "posing", and she gave lectures in observing surroundings and benefitting from them. She did not remark the weather, and the thought of the crew staying here amused her, knowing what Matthew had planned in the end for the entire production.

"She's three," Jerry smiled fondly. "She's with her mother while I'm here." He drank the rest of the whiskey, his tongue darting out to catch a wayward drop, and filled the glass again. He knew he could protect himself from most of what the Darklighters would dare throw at him, and could allow himself to relax knowing he was not in serious danger. Otherwise he would never allow himself the luxury of drinking. His eyes strayed involuntarily over her body, appreciating the sight.

"So, how is your work? I could imagine you're not home that often?" she said, leaning against the backrest, eyeing him out more intensely, sipping the whiskey now and then. She remembered Matthew's phone call before he had gone to bed and knew what she had to observe. She glanced around. No lights were on but that in the fire place and the red hue of the flames illuminated the furniture and accentuated the shadows' play. She stilled them, knowing that they would answer to her for the moment being.

"Some jobs I can bring her with me on, others I can't," he answered, feelings his muscles relax due to the alcohol. He was forgetting the precautions he always set up. Was it her seductive aura affecting him? He wanted to shake himself out of the trance-like sensation, but he could not muster a single thought of his own will. He could not even stop talking although he wished to tie up his tongue then and there; instead he moved slightly closer as images formed in his mind how her lips would feel against his.

"I could imagine she would be very good at," she shrugged, "whatever you're doing. Do you do anything else than being, what'd you call it?, tech wizard?" she asked pointing out an indirect question about his genetic origin. She saw her sway working its way on him and moved closer as well, extending her glass with a sly smile. "One more drink, please?" she moistened her lips and smacked them gently. "For the pillow and the duvet."

"Certainly, milady." He unscrewed the bottle cap and filled her glass, narrowly avoiding spilling as he kept looking at her. "I do a bit of this and that, boring stuff. No need to talk about that," he replied her inquiry politely dismissive.

She laughed warmly. "Oh, c'mon, honey, you're not pouring drinks for me just to sit around silently in the flickering light from a fireplace." Her eyes glided over him as she slid her arm over the backrest behind him, careful not to touch him, not just yet. The other hand she used to toss a strand of hair away from her face again, as she slowly leaned closer, not intimidating but just to show that she did not mind sitting there, alone with him, drinking Nathaniel's whiskey, which she would sure as hell have to replace when the shooting was over. Until then she had Nathaniel on a leash, like she had with everyone else.

Jerry was losing his grip on the situation. The alcohol worked him just as her spell. Not even the compulsory deep breaths he took to settle his energies worked at the moment. Damnable Darklighters.

"Okay then, if you insist," he laughed. "I guess you could call me a bit of a consultant or a temp. I get to work the odd jobs, but the pay's mostly good."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, her hair rippling over her soft shoulders and a few strands danced down over her cleavage, catching the light from the fire like bronze strings, and most importantly, catching his attention.

"Hm I could imagine you had all those daring jobs that nobody else wanted to do," she said, the tip of her tongue lightly stuck between her teeth, and her eyes once again wandering down over him, considering what steps to take.

"Isn't life itself daring?" he asked, raising his glass as if to toast to that statement. He tried drawing energy from his surroundings, just through the floorboards, to ground him, to make him focus, but it was hopeless. His thoughts on not having more alcohol just caused him to pour himself some more. The hand not holding his glass reached out and brushed a strand of her hair back that threatened to fall in her eye, and he was unable to retract it. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she felt his fingertips against her forehead ever so slightly. A sly smile rested in the corner of her mouth when she looked at him again with a lightly raised eyebrow.

"Hm, philosophical too. How charming," she said, the tones of her voice dropping to a dark, barely audible whisper. Her gaze darted to his lips, they were so close now. She slid her hand down to rest upon his shoulder, her fingers sliding slightly upwards around his neck. "You know, you could get paid even better," she said while she, with the other hand poured more whiskey into his glass and her own. She did not look at her hand once, not spilling a single drop, not missing out the moment. It did not take a fool to figure out what she meant, and how she could see the longing in his eyes as she took the last glass and downed it entirely, catching a drop on her lips.

He wanted to. She was the most attractive woman in his head right now, and somehow, she had always been. Or at least he thought she had. Whenever he had seen her on the TV or in a commercial. Anywhere. She was a goddess and he was her servant, a feverish monk trembling from admiration and longing to be one with his deity. He downed his drink just like she had but made no refill. Now was the time to act.

He felt crazy, insane. The mere thought of being alone in a room with Isobel Darklighter was enough to get him thinking, but that she allowed him to, and actually seemed eager to break the seal of professional discretion, that was insane. He had done many jobs alike, none as high-profile as the Darklighters, but the clientele had definitely not been unattractive, but never before had the thought occurred to him, to take advantage of his position within a house of celebrities and sleep with one of them. Never. But now there was nothing else in his mind. The craving, the lust, the need and longing. It was unlike him, so unlike him that he felt possessed. He knew a demon when he saw one, but this was not the violent possession. This was will-bending, and although he had learned his share of defences, nothing could have prepared him or shielded him from this intrusion on his will-power's domain.

As he leaned in and kissed her, he heard himself screaming in his head for the motion to stop and for him to withdraw and go back to the bed. But his body was locked down and had been hijacked by invisible imps arousing him more and more. It was undeniable now. The physical signs told their share of the story. He attempted to embrace her, but she was the dominatrix in the constellation and soon had him on his back, on the couch, yanking down his pants and taking in his hardened sex. Why she was naked under the dress, Jerry gave no thought. His vision was blurry from the strong alcohol and somehow the room seemed darker behind her. She was the only thing he saw as sweat hailed from his brow and his fingers grasped whatever part of her lovely body he could get hold on. Her hair whipped his face, her hips churning against his as she rode him to an almost embarrassingly quick climax. She made no attempt at silencing him as he cried out and shut his eyes in ecstasy. The white-hot sensation burned on the inside of his eyelids and finally he relaxed and opened his eyes, only to find himself back in bed, no light turned on and an awkward, sticky sensation under the sweaty sheets.

He supported himself against the mattress as he sat up slowly. He could almost still taste the whiskey, feel the weight on his body from hers, the warmth of her thighs straddling him down and her hair lashing at his neck. He regained his breath and looked around. Nobody had noticed. He slumped back into the pillow. His host was apparently also an expert at illusions, he assumed, still confused with what had actually happened and what had been a dream. They knew who he was, and his invasion presumably meant war.