Resurrection- Fallen (Cam)

VIII - A Long Shower

Internet access at Sword & Cross was heavily restricted but that didn't stop Conrad from scouring every book and newspaper clipping for answers. Which proved difficult, he hadn't the faintest idea what he was looking for. That and, well, he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually read a book. He'd come to terms with the fact that he was crazy, that some of his perceptions were warped but he knew his own mind. He knew that he couldn't be wrong, not all of the time and not about this.

Conrad hadn't learned much from the limited source material. If anything, the fact that he was now considering some kind of Twilight - Potter hybrid was only fuelling the growing fear that he was crazier than he thought. For longer than he cared to admit, Conrad had suspected that Victoria was something. . . Other than human. A truth he'd tried, desperately, to shield himself from. Opting instead to try and match her. To try and make something extraordinary of himself in order to keep up and, then, Cam had shown up and ruined everything.

He wasn't worried about Daniel, he knew Victoria better than she thought. Whatever was going on there was some kind of trick, some kind of game. . . Something, he was sure, that had to do with what she was, what they all were. That right hook from Roland, Cam being an impenetrable wall, Daniel knocking him out cold. Conrad had never lost a fight but with these boys there was no fight, not amongst them. No, that was a spider and a fly. Only, he was the fly.

Maybe, it was because he'd seen it all before. Shit, he'd been Cam. . . Once upon a time. That was how he knew that Cam was the one she really wanted, that she really. . . Loved? Conrad was enough of a man to see right through Daniel too, it was clear as day to him that Daniel was not interested in Victoria.

Which, as a mortal, had Conrad awfully confused. Conrad didn't know what he felt for Victoria anymore, only that it was big and complicated. That didn't mean he wasn't completely dumbfounded by Daniel's lack of interest in her. Frankly, Daniel's seemingly forced affections had led him to notice the quiet brunette girl, Lucy or whoever she was. It wasn't long before Conrad began noticing the looks Daniel shot her or the forced attention Cam seemed to give her and he had to hand it to the guy, Cam was a very convincing actor, almost as convincing as he was observant. The hesitation, the space he seemed cautious to keep between them, the way he never fully looked her in the eyes. Cam was not interested, he was only pretending to be. It left Conrad wondering, intently, what kind of game they were playing. What kind of dark, twisted, mystery had these powerful beings playing some foolish game of high school charades. And for whose benefit was it?

Conrad couldn't be sure when it had stopped being about Victoria but finding the truth was more important. Somewhere, amongst the glances he caught her sharing with Cam, he came to realise that Victoria had never looked at him the way she looked at Cam; and if he was being truthful, he had never looked at Victoria the way Cam did. He'd come to develop an appreciation for her, whether she liked it or not, Victoria Smith had made him a better man. She had given him. . . Whatever this was. . . Something to look into, a purpose even, though to what end he could not say.

Conrad had been so wrapped in his own thoughts that he hadn't been paying proper attention to the book he was pretending to read. It was the last one of the day, that's what he'd promised himself when he pried the worn, leather-bound volume from the shelf. He'd been too preoccupied thinking about how unusual Victoria and her new cronies were to notice how strange the book was. He felt a little foolish as he carefully closed the cover and began inspecting it for a title, of which there was none. The only marking on the outside book was the library sticker on the back of the spine which read: R999.318 GRI. whatever that meant.

He flipped open the cover and properly looked at the first few pages, they were yellowed and thin. Words upon words, in dark neat letters. It struck him that these letters were penned into the page, not printed. Someone had gone to the trouble of writing this sad, little book. And it was sad, just holding it made Conrad feel sort of miserable. There were no numbers on the pages either, no chapter titles or character names. Had he not known any better, Conrad could have sworn that this first section of the book was pulled straight from the The Old Testimant. It spoke of fires and flood, suffering and sacrifice. . . The pages were growing more worn the further he dove into the book, which had Conrad feeling more uneasy than miserable. Who the Hell started reading in the middle of a book?