Chapter Text
December, 23rd, 2006
The hissing of wind passing by the tires of the car rings in Shane's ears. He is seated in the back, behind his mom. The sun is long gone, and thick snow falls from the sky. The hosts of the Christmas party they had just attended offered to let him and his parents stay the night. However, they are Canadian. A bit of snow on a highway does not scare them, and neither does a cold winter night.
It's hard for Shane to ignore the faint smell of alcohol in the car. Both on himself, and his parents. He and his mom had indulged in some wine, he only one glass, his mom many more. His dad had a few cans of beer, nothing he couldn't handle. Shane rarely drinks, and he can feel the half-glass of wine he had influencing his ability to stay awake. The only thing keeping him from completely drifting off is the radio playing 'Jingle Bells' once again. His own voice sings the words back, his mom proudly repeats. His dad is focusing on the road, but hums the song softly.
At the age of three, Shane had quietly told his mother one night before bed that Christmas is his favourite time of year. This still rings true. He loved every part of the holiday. The warm glow of a fireplace, the smell of old oak trees. The humming of songs, the gathering of family. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he does selfishly like receiving gifts. Even at nineteen, he keeps this holiday close to his heart.
Wind smashes against the window of the car, bringing with it more snow. The sound does little to shake Shane from his state of nearly drifting off to sleep. At some point, he gives in. He lets his heavy eyes close, the sound of the radio quietly fading to the back of his mind. A sense of warmth fills his body, he knows the heat isn't on, but the heat still warms his blood. He can feel it rise within him, starting from his toes. It flows up, ending at the top of his head. The feeling is comforting, like being wrapped in a big blanket as a child.
Suddenly, the warmth is challenged by the crisp cold air of the winter night. It kisses Shane's cheeks, alongside something shaper. Something that is not just cold, something so painful it jolts Shane's eyes open ever so slightly. He can't comprehended what is happening, but he can hear his parents screaming. Perhaps this is a nightmare, a simple dream that goes away when he shuts his eyes again. So, that is what Shane does.
His eyes close, and he counts back from ten in his head. He ignores the illusion of pain, the sounds of screams. He ignores the way the air is biting at him, begging for him to scream as well. When he hits one, his eyes open again. He is still on the snowy ditch floor, the moon still hangs in the sky. This time, there is no screaming, the once cold air has made his body numb to any senses he once had. His eyes move slightly, he can't feel his body enough to fully turn his head.
His eyes look to his right, he can see his mother laying beside him. She stares up into the night sky, her face a pale white Shane has never seen on her before. "Mom?", he calls out. Or, he thinks he does. Shane can tell no words leave his throat, his body too weak to attempt anything.
Shane can't tell how he has gotten here. Had his father drunkenly driven off the road? Fallen asleep behind the wheel? No, that is unlike him. Perhaps wildlife jumped out in front of the car, he was caught off guard and couldn't fix the wheel in time. That felt more real, real to Shane at least. He knows he is going to die here, laying in the cold winter snow.
The last time Shane had thought of the afterlife had been at the age of twelve, it wasn't some insightful thought. It just sort of hit him one day when he was playing a round of hockey with friends. He, Shane Hollander, would die one day. At the time, he gave it little thought. He did not weigh the ways to die, but he still doubts a slow death—next to his dead mother—was top of the list. God does not ask how each human wishes to die, he does not offer a choice. In this moment, Shane has that realization. Perhaps a bit too late, but he still has it.
As he lay waiting, he prays death is not as lonely as his life has been. He prays he will understand social situations, he prays he will not be bullied, and he prays that whatever waits for him after death includes people who love him.
A sudden noise causes Shane's eyes to shift to the left side of him. There lays his father, he too is pale. However, A slim woman is knelt down beside him. Perhaps God is not so mean, perhaps he has given Shane and his father another chance. A life that will let him be better, time to mourn his mother. His eyes focus on the sight, locking in. It's then he sees it. the women's teeth are in his father's neck. Blood slips out, running down onto the ground under him. No hero, but a monster. They were found by a monster. And, Shane will still die.
The next moments happen in slow motion. Shane is or surprised by this, for what good deed has he done to deserve a quick and painless death?
He watches as the woman rises from the floor. She's tall, more pale than either of Shane's parents currently are. Her outfit is a pure black, it is not a fashion choice, rather for comfort. The only spot of colour on her is blood. Blood that is deep like wine, and slides from her mouth, down her chin, and races to drip onto the ground. Her eyes lock onto Shane's own. It's then he notices the colour, the mix of a sickly yellow with hints of red. It is not a human eye colour, which only confirms his prior realization.
He watches as this almost singly slim woman easily kicks aside his overweight father. She does so which such ease that Shane wonders if he has already died. This could easily pass as his own persona hell.
She approaches him—slowly—paying no mind to the blood dripping from her chin. Shane Hollander is next, the last lamb to the slaughter. It's only now he recognizes how frozen he actually is. He is not cold, but rather stuck in place. Even if he had the energy to, he doubts he could run. Whatever is happening to him is beyond his control. As she draws close, Shane swears the only sound he can hear is her shoes on the snow. A noise that resembles a slight crunch.
Before Shane can react, she has knelt down beside him. Her face is close to his neck, she prepares to bare her fangs. One of her hands grabs at his hair, tugging it. This, he can feel. The pain of inhuman strength tugging at him, holding him in position. Just as he thinks its time, there is a pause. She pulls up, her head tilted up to the stars. The woman stays like that for a moment, quiet. Then, she moves close to Shane once more. This time, her mouth is closer to his ear.
"One of us will die tonight, Shane Hollander." She announces, before baring her teeth.
Suddenly, Shane becomes very aware of the world around him. He is able to feel the blood exiting his body. The pain is sickening—if he had energy—Shane would throw up. His body wants to push, to pull away from death that is drawing close. The beating in his chest is slowing, he can count each beat and bump.
one, two, three, fou—
Shane Hollander is floating. Or at least he hopes he is. He thinks about all he has done in his life time, its a short list. Then, his mind wanders to what he hadn't done in his lifetime. That list is significantly longer than the first.
"Wake"
Is it God? Or an Angel? Who has come for him?
"Wake"
The voice sounds soft, a hint of an accent Shane does not know how to place at the moment peaks through.
"Wake up."
He doesn't mean to, but his body jolts up. His breath is heavy, but fast. A sweat is forming on his forehead. It's loud around him, too loud. His eyes scan, his tossed aside car, his parents' bodies. He is right where he was left to die. Yet, he doesn't feel dead. Shane feels more alive than he ever has. His body no longer feels as if it is weighed down my force, the cold feels like nothing against his skin.
It takes a moment, but eventually Shane's eyes fall on her. She lays on the ground, her blood spilling from both her wrist. The blood creates a large puddle of darkness on the white snow. The scene is brutal, yet something turns in Shane's stomach. A knot starts to form, it twists in his gut.
With steady hands, he pushes himself up and off the ground. The first few steps are wobbly, as if he is learning how to take his first step again. He doesn't know how or why he can remember that feeling. Instead, his mind focuses on getting over to her. It's a slow movement, walking. His feet drag against the snow, bringing small piles of white with him as he approaches her. She looks unwell, hungry even.
Her yellow eyes stare up at Shane, she blinks once, then twice. A cruel look forms in her face. Her eyebrows morph, her eyes narrow.
"My poor child." She whispers, a weak hand reaching up to cradle Shane's cheek. He doesn't intend to, but he places his own hand over hers.
"You are undeserving of this curse, of this life." She continues, red falls from her eyes. The bloody tears stream done her cheeks.
"Forgive me." She whispers, this time her voice weak and broken. Shane squeezes her hand tightly, he can feel the life retreating from her.
Shane had witness death once before today. His aunt—his father's side—had died by her illness. It had been a long time coming, and he had watched as each year he grew, she grew sicker. Sometimes, he can see her eyes in his eye. The way her sockets were consumed her eyes. Dark eye bags under each other form the sleepless nights that illness causes. He was too young to have spoken at the funeral, but he recalls attending. The smell of a rotting corpse shielded only by the burning of candles, and those who went over-kill with perfume and cologne.
Somehow today, Shane has witness three deaths. Three deaths, and one revival he still cannot be certain isn't just his mind trying to comprehend death. Whatever he is now, he feels reborn. His mind is clearer, his body less tense.
He drops her hand from his, and takes one last good look at her face. Honestly, he isn't sure what he will need to remember her for, but just in case. He does the same to his mother and father, though he knows photos of them exists.
Photos. Shane would need to find photos of his parents for the funeral. He knows they had spoken about their death wishes before, especially after Shane became an adult. For some reason in this moment, the wishes have removed them self from Shane's mind. Instead, fear rushes through him. He thinks more about his mother's wishes more than his father's. Is it possible she would've wanted to be burred back in Japan? Do they even do such a ritual in Japan? Shane regrets not asking more about Japanese culture, he regrets allowing his mom to isolate from her culture in order to assimilate with Canadian life.
Then, a different feeling forms in Shane's stomach. Actually, it's in his throat. His throat feels dry like same, his mind now focused on one thing. Blood.
His eyes dart around the area, and land on his father's corpse. He can hear his heart beat, slow, but alive. Shane doesn't mean to, or intend to. It's like he has lost all control of himself. Every part of him wants to resist, but he can't. He is on the ground beside his father, whose body was tossed aside. Shane presses a hand over where his father's heart is, he needs blood.
there is a snap, and then his hand grips it. The muscle that never stops working. The king of blood. As Shane pulls his hand out of his father's chest, he can hear the tearing of the hearts connective tissue breaking. He brings the heart close to his mouth—as if it is his nature—he sinks his teeth into it.
At first, he feels guilt. Yet, it washes away quick as the blood enters his system. It's follow by what can only be described as pure ecstasy. The world feels new, Shane feels reborn once more.