The Son and the Sparrow

Chapter Twenty Seven(v3)

Chapter Twenty Seven

Alexander Hayes held an unconscious Daniel in his arms. As soon as he was sure Daniel lacked consciousness, Alexander promptly released him, and Daniel flopped to the ground like a sad limp scarecrow. Alexander kicked him once in the ribs. Lousy treacherous bastard. Alexander couldn't trust anyone anymore. He struck Daniel with his foot once more, then bent down, lifted him, and began to drag him to his car parked further down the street. Although the feat took some time, Alexander was strong and Daniel possessed a slight frame. Finally Alexander was able to ease Daniel into the seat of his car. He smiled to himself. He dashed to the back of his car, and pulled out a pack of post-its, a glass cup, a felt pen, and lastly a knife. He reached in Daniel's pocket and pulled out a set of shiny jingling keys. Wonderful. Who would have predicted this would be so effortless? Alexander set everything he had on the ground next to the car, but kept the knife in his hand. He took Daniel's arm, and rubbed the flesh, trying to find a suitable place. Ah, there it was. Alexander ripped the knife through the skin with ease, like a surgeon, then grabbed the glass. As blood began to ooze from the wound, Alexander eased the liquid into the glass. Perhaps Leon was the only one who could hope to match his intelligence of how the human form was shaped.

Leon. The very mention of that name made Alexander's tongue curl, his fists clench, his eyesight blur with rage and hatred. That fucking son of a bitch. He, like every person in this world, was a worm, a dirty crawling worthless thing. Alexander had thought that Leon was different. He thought he could trust Leon. How stupid he had been. Of course Leon had betrayed him. He should have expected it. But now Leon would regret his mistake. Leon had been proven guilty. And now it was Alexander's duty to carry out his punishment.

Once Alexander was content with the amount of blood Daniel had given, he clicked his tongue with satisfaction, bandaged Daniel's wound (he didn't desire blood on his car), and left him there. The boy wouldn't wake while he was absent. Alexander strolled up to the bluebird's mansion and whistled in appreciation. The mansion was enormous-almost a fortress. Yet it wouldn't be able to keep him out. He put a hand to the front door's handle, and voila. The door wasn't even locked. Alexander gazed into the interior of the house with a grin shaping his face.

This was going to be magical.

----------------------------------------

Philip awoke quickly in the morning, startled out of a bad dream. He could not recall what the dream contained which he found so frightening, but the goosebumps remained on his flesh as proof. Normally he had an excellent memory, which included with dreams, but no matter how much he struggled to recall it, it refused to come to him. However, perhaps that was best. Philip's head already contained enough nightmarish memories. He didn't require more geniune nightmares to add to that. Philip lay in bed for a time, listening to the sounds of morning and enjoying the feel of the bed and sheets against his small meek body. He could feel sunlight on his eyelids, bright enough to keep him awake yet calm enough so that it didn't bother him. He stretched his arms above his head, eyes still closed, relishing the feel of his muscles elongating and condensing. He yawned once, mouth wide, then opened his eyes.

And frowned.

On the table next to the bed stood a glass with red liquid in it and a post-it stuck to the side. The post-it it read Taste Me. Philip sat up in bed, the sheet falling into his lap, exposing his chest. There were several factors that helped Philip come to the conclusion that he should not, in fact, obey the post-it. One fact that Philip was able to pick up immediately was that the cup was not one of his own. Philip only owned one kind of glass cup, and the one beside him was not one of those. Therefore, it didn't come from this house. Another was that the note was written in neither Daniel's nor Leon's handwriting. Philip knew that the writing looked familiar, but he hadn't a clue whose it was. Philip picked up the glass with a delicate hand and wafted the air above the cup into his nose. He couldn't detect a smell. Perhaps something, but not so overwhelming where he could fully sense it. Philip pulled the glass closer to his nose and he inhaled once again. Was that...? He smelled it one more time. He could make out a small smell of something vaguely familiar. The liquid couldn't be what Philip's brain was leaping to. That wouldn't make sense. It wasn't logical. And therefore Philip took a small sip of what was in the cup. He simply had to know the answer to his curiosity.