Midnight Hunt - 6. - 10. (ENG)

6. Phonecall

He locked himself in the bathroom and quickly dialed her number. He wasn't indifferent to leaving Ross alone in his own bed, but he also couldn't give up on his friend. He sat down on the cold floor and leaned his head against the tiles. He listened to the regular beeping of the ringtone. He tapped his knee restlessly. What if something had happened to her? What if she'd cried all day just because of his actions, which hadn't even produced the expected results?

"Artie?" A girl's shaky voice echoed from the phone.

"Hey..." He was suddenly at a loss for words. What was he actually promising himself out of this? "Today... You weren't at work today and Mack told me what happened. I'm sorry, I didn't know..."

"It's okay," she sobbed, but she was clearly trying to hold herself together.

"Is there anything I can do for you? I'll take care of everything tomorrow, feel free to stay home if you need to," he suggested, as if he hadn't been flying around like a soapy bolt of lightning today and ended up with a bandaged palm. He struck himself as a hypocrite.

"I'll come tomorrow, please don't bother."

"No, it's not a problem at all... Or I can go to your place, it's just a minute..."

"Artie," she raised her voice, "don't bother. Go to sleep."

"You go to sleep, Xena," Finch snapped, "Don't pretend you're a tough superwoman and you don't want me there. If I were with you, I'd make a hot chocolate with whipped cream for you and watch Hidden Passion with you like I did last time. You want me there. I'm your breakup clown, but I can do other miracles too!"

For a moment at least, he caught the quiet laughter through the tears.

"There's really no need. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Promise me you'll show up."

"I promise. But I'll have that chocolate waiting for me when I get there, or I'll turn around on the doorstep!"

Still joking, Finch thought, this is good.

"I'll have a red nose, too!... Hold on. Make yourself some tea before bed, it'll help."

"As you say. See you tomorrow then," he could hear the bright smile now.

"Bye..." He'd barely said goodbye before she hung up on him.

He stayed staring at his cell phone for a while. She smiled. That was enough for now. He'd best get on the next train, pick her some flowers on the way, and cuddle her to his chest like a fragile bunny. Then he'd make her a 'break-up' chocolate and be sure to have a good supply of her favourite biscuits to eat with it. But she said no. He didn't want to force his way into her life. He'd pushed her away enough that there was no hope of a romantic relationship between them, but he certainly didn't want to drive her away completely. She was his sunshine during the difficult, cloudy days.

The delicious smell of late dinner began to spread from the doorstep. Finch got up and returned to the room just as Ross was setting two bowls of vegetable soup on the counter. Not only was he an excellent detective, burglar, and writer, but he could cook and move from place to place like a ghost. Could he so quickly bring a pot from his kitchen in a completely different apartment to here without Finch hearing the creak of the door and the parquet floors? He could. At times it seemed like a fatamorgana to him.

"What are you locking yourself in for? Am I hitting you or what?" Ross grinned. His fake glasses were on the cupboard. Without them, he looked perfectly bland. Finch wouldn't have remembered him even if he'd been dressed in a ballet costume with a " LOOK AT ME!" banner. And yet he was beautiful. Behind the amazingly average face were many secrets. Dark ones. Bloody ones.

"I wanted to be alone," Finch explained, taking a seat behind the counter.

"Then I'm out of here," Ross stated all too neutrally. If only he'd at least been jealous! If he was angry, Atreus would know he was dealing with a human, but this only made him more fascinated, even terrified.

"Stay," Finch chirped, and the two of them set about their dinner. Ross stood, since there was only one chair in the entire apartment, but he didn't seem to mind. "How are you doing that?" Finch muttered.

"What?" The accomplice looked up at him, smiling.

"You're so calm. We're two serial killers who, by sheer coincidence, met as neighbors in an apartment building and are now having dinner together as roommates just after you told me your next target. You're a psychopath, I'm a cannibal," he paused, "Damn. How did this happen?"

"We're cursed," the journalist explained briefly, "Anger and panic won't change anything. You wither, I wither... it's not that bad. Killing. When we're doing something for society at the same time."

"Yes, but..."

"You're overthinking it," Ross huffed grimly. He wrinkled his brow, as if he didn't want to think about it himself. Finch nodded and didn't mention it again. He knew his friend well enough to guess what he was up against. He didn't want to provoke him. He wanted to keep him close. After a moment, Ross took his hand and spoke: "You've had a hard day today. I should go."

"Don't go," Finch objected anxiously.

"You're tired," River stated, as if Artie himself didn't know.

"But I want you."

"You're not going to be fresh tomorrow," he argued like a machine.

"But I want you!" Atreus objected stubbornly, interlacing his fingers with River's. Ross stared at their hands for a moment. He measured them like a scanner. Then he looked into Finch's face the same way. "I want you," he repeated, to interrupt Ross's recalculation of the pros and cons. River was always reluctant at first. He lives too cold and logical a life. But once he's invested in the concept of "love," he can't get enough of it until dawn. Only then does he become human, and that's exactly what Atreus needed today. The human touch.

7. Sweet average

He was trapped in someone else's body and had no way to stop his atrocities. He could hear his own laughter, his own words, and he was sickened by them. He heard the screaming. It belonged to a young boy with blue eyes, who lay tied beneath him, scared to death. He felt his skin. His own euphoria, very much like ecstasy. The smell of blood, sweat, and gasoline mingled into one mixture and resembled the taste that melted in his mouth. Atreus clutched the hammer and wedge in his hands. He used it fiercely to approach the young schoolboy's face. His eyes were forced open by some instrument, and he writhed like an earthworm beneath the straps. Atreus struck the hammer on the wedge. Once. Twice. Three times. He hammered, listened to the silencing of the endless screeching, and laughed... unable to stop...

Until he woke up and found himself back at home in his bed. He was shivering and covered in sweat. The air in the room was hot and stuffy after a wild night, and the first light of the morning was leaning in the window. He looked at his cell phone. He still had an hour before the alarm would ring. With a sigh, he rolled onto his side and peered at his sleeping accomplice.

People say sleepers look peaceful, but that wasn't the case with River Ross. His wakeful, calm image was replaced by wrinkles on his forehead and heavily clenched fists, his hands twitching at times as if he were fighting an invisible entity in his sleep. His veins were coiled and all his muscles stiffened in the would-be struggle. He couldn't have had a more desperate expression on his face. He was losing. He didn't act like a robot or a human in pain. He looked downright unearthly, like a wandering phantom in a haunted house, wailing in agony and terror. This was how he was most beautiful to Atreus. The most faithful to his true form.

Finch gently touched his forearm and caressed his exposed skin, silently watching the tears roll from his eyes until they opened with a twitch.

Ross gasped. After a few minutes, he looked up at Atreus.

"Bad dream?" He asked, as if he wasn't the one whose nose was about to bleed.

"A memory," Atreus smiled sadly, moving his palm to River's wet cheek. He wiped the tears from it until the journalist clung to him like a tick. While they were alone after their night together, he resembled a man, but as soon as they got up, he would be a machine again. That was why Atreus was enjoying the moment. The two of them could play at being human. They could afford to have nightmares and feel emotions that were not natural to them on a daily basis. A mutual touch that they were reluctant to have with normal beings out there.

" Blinder's memory?" Ross asked quietly.

"I don't think I can get him out of my head. I don't know if it's what I've read about him or the fact that he won't surrender."

"Maybe it'll take a while. After all..." He paused for a moment, hesitating, "He killed thirty-five people, literally through their eyes, drilled their brains out. He had a strong personality. I couldn't have handled it. Listening to that."

Chills ran down Atreus's spine.

"Ross? Would you do something for me?" River looked up at Atreus curiously, "I need you to find out something for me about the Blinder before he started to kill. What kind of affair he had while he was still working at the high school. How many and who he hurt. Names, addresses."

"Is it those eyes you can't stop thinking about since yesterday? He was a lunatic, Atreus. Don't catch his manners."

"How do you know that?" He frowned.

"I know all about my Hunter," Ross spoke mysteriously, turning his back unhappily on Atreus's chest. Finch couldn't resist. His accomplice may have been perfectly average and unmemorable, but his heat and chiseled body were too strong a caliber. He kissed Ross's neck and began to caress his narrow hips and abdominal muscles with his fingers, continuing into ever more intimate parts. He couldn't command his own hands. Soon there was a yielding moan. "Are you trying to convince me?" River smiled.

"Are you going to do this for me or not?" Finch whispered in his ear, taking advantage of his sensitive episode.

"What time is it?"

"We still have half an hour."

"Show me what you can do in half an hour and I'll decide by that."

8. Light and darkness

Ross may have been right and Finch almost slept through two stops, but he didn't regret a minute spent with his accomplice. There was no better morning than waking up by his side. He loved it. The pleasant attention to kill the first thoughts of unrelenting pain. It was like a small dose of analgesic. The medication hadn't worked for him in a long time, and it was possible his body had gotten used to it. It was no use swallowing so many pills, and he hadn't had his dose today either. He'd catch up tonight. He didn't need a stomach ache to go with the drowsiness and the pain in his gut. It would linger. His body was a broken machine, and the only fuel he ran on was the stolen lives of people like himself.

The beaten beast was performing his morning ritual with a fake smile. He stopped at a newsstand and bought a newspaper in which he finally saw Ross's latest article about the illegal sale of corpses at the local morgue. He thought to himself, why would anyone need to buy a corpse, but after a moment's thought he smiled. He'd been looking for one a few years ago, too. It was nothing more than faking his own death and fleeing abroad with a new identity. This time, Ross hadn't surprised him, in fact, he'd spoiled his plan for a possible escape if his entire career went under the violets. "Clever," he muttered under his breath. How could someone so intelligent be so thoughtless? Had he found a better way to get off the face of the earth? Would he even need to? No one would even stumble over him.

"Good morning," Finch greeted, and without looking back at his manager or the customers, he went to change into his uniform. His thoughts were in a fog. He couldn't look forward to a new day, preferring to sleep until the next dawn. He grumpily tied on his apron and went to do what he did best - make coffee. He made himself one too. He stared at the news for a moment, slurping from the bitter black liquid, having forgotten to add both milk and sugar to it.

"...DNA from a dead person at the blast site was reportedly found at fifteen crime scenes of a serial killer known as the Blinder. He raped and physically tormented his victims for several days. He got his name from the method of murder. He used to pierce his victims' eyes, severely damaging part of their brains. It is possible that the killer had been in the harbour for some time. The Federal Bureau of Investigation has taken over the case of the explosion..."

The method of murder - piercing the brain. That's bullshit. They were still breathing, still screeching after they came to. They couldn't move in a coordinated way or speak meaningfully, but they could still contort their faces in pain. The battering had killed them. Bloody saliva, thick as chocolate, flowed from their mouths...

Chocolate. Finch sighed, remembering his promise from yesterday, and set about creating his work of art, a "break-up" chocolate. He hadn't forgotten the sweet pink stars and edible gold dust they only used for children's birthday parties. He crowned the top of the sweet cloud with a double leaf of fresh mint. Just in time. His friend was already walking into the pizzeria. Her long blonde hair swirled in the sunshine, and though her eyes were puffy and red from crying, her piercing green irises stood out. Grief hadn't cut a bit from her beauty. She was only pale, as if carved from marble. Her bottom lip was bitten, bloody.

Finch woke up and for a moment he was filled with positive energy. He literally jumped over the counter and ran over to Anna, who also made no secret of her momentary joy. They fell into each other's arms as if they hadn't seen each other in years. In fact, only three days had passed.

"Are you feeling better?" Finch asked quietly.

"Yeah... It's okay," she smiled, pushing him away from her, "where's your nose?"

"Nose?" He blinked. His cheeks flushed like two roses. "Nose!" He grabbed his head.

"It's okay, you're sweet even like this," she kissed him on the cheek like an enchanted woodland fairy. Finch was in a daze. He had no idea how quickly he had changed from a depressed bear to a tail-wagging puppy. Heat washed over him. He repeated to himself: "Feds, the feds are coming for you" to cool off a bit.

"Chocolate," he pointed a finger at his creation. Anna took his hand so they could sit together for a moment. While she wasn't looking, he tried to compose himself. His fingers touched his kissed cheek. Her kisses were different than Ross's. They were gentle. Clean. The ruthless killer RiverRoss.exe, cold as a dog's snout, would never be a match for a beautiful woman with a normal job and the sun in her hair. Or they shouldn't be compared on the same scale at all. They were different, like light and dark. One a light for the soul, the other for the body.

9. Naive misconceptions

It wasn't a day like any other, and Anna wasn't the same either. She was unusually quiet. She was quite slow in taking orders. Almost like Finch after a second sleepless night and a busy morning. Luckily it was Tuesday, so there wasn't who knows how much visitors, and they did find a moment to relax in the afternoon. They sat opposite each other, and her green eyes were as empty as two moss-covered dry wells. Finch, on the other hand, hid a pained grimace behind a smile and a cup of coffee. Neither was in the mood to talk. Anna combed through her hair and peered out the window. There was sadness and fear in her eyes. Finch wrinkled his forehead. It couldn't have been just yesterday's explosion, he was sure of that. Anna had always been strong. Even the mention of her crazy father and his death shouldn't have shaken her so much.

"The FBI stopped by to see me yesterday," she broke the silence, her voice trembling.

"What did they want?" He sipped, not taking his eyes off her.

"Turns out my creepy old man is a serial killer," she grinned cynically, "But that wasn't the point. They wanted to know if I was aware of it and if I had any idea he was hiding in the harbour. Whether I'd been visiting him. Whether I was helping him."

"Not a chance," Finch shook his head. She wasn't material for an accomplice, he could already judge that much.

"But it was terrible!" She buried her fingers in her hair, her voice cracking again, "I would never... I hate him! He killed fifteen people!"

Thirty-five.

"He left and never came back, never said goodbye, never wrote to me once, never even remembered me! Although... maybe he did, maybe he wanted to protect me..."

He didn't. You were just a kid, just an alibi, and when his sickness rolled over, he didn't need you anymore. You or your mother. He hated her. He married her to silence his parents so they wouldn't find out about his perverted ways.

"I think he loved me. He celebrated all my birthdays with me before and nursed my knees when I kept falling down at hockey matches."

He just liked it when you cried and bled. On purpose, he pushed on your wounds more than was necessary. He loved it.

"He killed fifteen people, Anna," Finch reminded her, deceptively, so she wouldn't get her hopes up, and took her hand gently. It was wet and icy. "Did they ask anything else?"

"They wanted to know if he had enemies."

"Enemies?" He mused.

"He had a lot of them. Those boys' parents, former colleagues, family, my mom..."

"Anyone who wanted to kill him?"

"A lot of people, but I don't know. I told them I don't know." She sighed and looked out the window. Atreus suspected it wasn't just the FBI. He squeezed her palm and followed her gaze. Outside, someone was standing. Men in black shorts and tank tops. One had just bought cigarettes at the newsstand across the street, the other was at a red Jeep licking ice cream and hypnotizing the pizza place building.

"Anna," he addressed her to distract her, "if you need anything, I'm here for you, okay? If those agents or anyone else gives you any trouble, just tell me, I'll deal with them."

"Sure," she smiled sadly, "You'll be the first to know."

Finch, however, knew her very well. He knew she had too good a heart to talk about her problems to a man who was seized with excruciating cramps under stress and getting weaker by the day, waiting for the massive blood loss and hospitalization to catch up with him. It annoyed him. He was doing everything he could to make sure that didn't happen, and she didn't miss his efforts either, but his body wouldn't and wouldn't stop wasting away. He was losing strength, losing authority. In three years he wouldn't even be able to serve anymore, and every day he was reminded of his cruel fate by the pitying glances of his colleagues, who also learned of it in a particularly humiliating way for Finch.

Anna squeezed his palm tightly as well. At the sight of Atreus' defiant, belligerent, and determined expression, her anxiety intensified. She didn't want to be responsible for his suffering. She would never forgive herself. She had no idea, however, that it was this attitude that hurt him the most, and the thought that there was nothing he could do for her in the future drove him into an angry frenzy.

After all, having a cold River Ross machine by his side was less demanding than dealing with the lives of mere mortals. At least Ross didn't remind him that he was one of them. Plus the disadvantage.

10. A cigarette break

He sat on the doorstep, smoking and thinking. It had only been less than two days since he had taken possession of the Blinders' life and memories, but his world had suddenly been turned upside down. It had taken so little. The girl he had previously considered the sunshine of his ordinary days had turned into a frightened woman he could no longer consider as a potential partner, though he had planned to leave her to someone decent anyway. Her father's memories were too strong. They clouded his judgment and made him more inclined to think he should stay away from his colleague. He couldn't strike up a real, friendly conversation with her, and overall he felt a kind of fog, a darkness, unfolding in his heart.

He noticed it again this morning as he watched Ross trapped in a nightmare. Not that he hadn't been fascinated by his tears and defenses against the invisible beast before, but today he actually smiled at it, and worse... Pain and fear began to draw him more than it had so far. Different scenarios kept popping up in his thoughts. How could he hurt these suspicious guys if they were harassing his friends? He'd rip their hearts out, no doubt. But what could be tried before that? Silence them. Along with Ross, take them into the woods and hunt them like wild animals. No - he didn't have as much strength as he used to. He'd tie them to a table and hungrily pick at their muscles and organs, stashing them in his freezer for further use. Who ever said the Hunter only has a taste for hearts? It's only one part that he must consume raw to gain the strength of his enemy. The rest is prey. But if the prey isn't pure, he'd better not grab it... those before the restaurant looked pure enough, not like the bastard who had just awakened the worst motives in him.

Finch's thoughts escaped again to the blue eyes in the sunshine. He realized he was nowhere else but in a school classroom.

Back row. Right by the window. Staring at him and smiling, a dark-haired boy with a sparkle in his eyes. They were pure and sassy. Naive. He was provoking him with his pose - legs splayed out on the table and arms folded across his chest. His chin raised contemptuously. The smirk. A challenge.

He never paid attention...

It wasn't a challenge that stirred erotic desire in the Blinder. It was a challenge to battle. He had the urge to compete with him for control, for dominance... for moral victory, when suddenly the figure of the blue-eyed high-schooler put on a despiseful expression, and into the empty room, into the deserted classroom with the last two souls, the angel and the satan, his lips uttered, "I know what you've done."

Terror and anger filled the Blinder. He was on one side of the room in front of the blackboard, his accuser on the other. The boy stood up. There was a suffocating silence. They both looked at the closed door at once. The teacher had them closer, but he had recently injured his knee playing basketball. The student was farther away but he used to be quick as a shot in PE.

Winner is only one.

"Artie?" He felt a hand on his shoulder. Mindlessly, he put out his long-burned cigarette and looked above him to see his friend Anna. He smiled falsely, and though he remained a little surprised when she sat down on the top stair beside him, he didn't hesitate to lean anxiously against her. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to think. He wanted to beat it as soon as possible, so he could look at Anna as his sunshine again, at Ross as his accomplice, and he could rid himself of the breathtakingly perverse thoughts of the blue eyes that still had a lifetime ahead of them. Anna smiled weakly and began to gently ruffle his hair. "Aren't you angry with me? For that date last week. I acted like... crazy Greenpeace activist."

"No, I was the nasty one," he clarified, "I was trying to scare you off."

"Scare me off?" She frowned.

"'Hmm," he nodded. Although he knew Anna was waiting for an explanation, nothing had just come to mind.

"You know, it had crossed my mind... we could do it one more time and... maybe try it again."

Finch pulled away from her, fixing his hair to hide his sudden unease.

I killed your father, he told her in his mind, I just said I was going to scare you away.

How is that possible? To be so blind to rejection. He took a deep breath and stabbed his cold gaze into her naive eyes like two icicles.

"I need to tell you something."