Nameless bar, nameless city. At least Aaron knew the name of what he was drinking. He sat, his head resting against his palm as he twirled the glass of whiskey in his fingers. He suddenly found himself missing Mal. He wished the big man was here - he always seemed to make things make more sense. Somewhere a few miles back he realized all this time he had been driving towards Oregon. He thought he might be in Idaho. Odd that he didn’t remember turning that way, didn’t even know how he knew the directions. It was like he wasn’t in control of his own mind anymore.

Aaron lifted the glass and drank what was left. Somewhere over the next few minutes, the bartender must have refilled it, as the next time he went to take a drink, it was once again full. He had no memory of anyone filling it. He let out a long wavering sigh. He was starting to lose sections of his memory - he wondered if it was like that all the time, or just because he was drinking.

He wondered if it mattered.

Ah, alcohol - the answer to all of life’s problems.

Aaron gripped the glass hard in his hand and winced, realizing he had shattered the glass in his palm. Whiskey flowed across the counter mixed with blood from his wounds. Staring down at his palm, he idly added those few extra scars to the total count - what’s a few more in the long run?

“I can’t see!”

“Yes, you can.”

“But… my… my eye…” Aaron touched his cheek under his left eye, looking into the mirror. The eye was white, underneath all the red. He couldn’t see out of it. Everything looked flat around him, the left side of his world now a stinging, inky blackness. He struggled not to give into the panic that pulled at him.

“Aaron…”

The mirror was taken out of his hand, and he was turned to the frowning face of his brother. Panic bubbled up, and no matter what he tried to do to suppress it, Aaron couldn’t help it. Nineteen years old or not, he began to sob. He expected to be slapped, to be shaken violently and reminded sternly not to whine.

“I’m so sorry…”

That was the last thing he would have expected. Daring to open his eyes - now mismatched and half as useful as they were when he was put under the anesthesia - he looked at his brother. He saw a broken-hearted sadness on his face. Aaron wondered if it was healthy - that rage and anger would have been perfectly normal, but the concern was a shock. Aaron couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I did not know this would happen. It is a side-effect I didn’t predict. I didn’t intend this, I’m sorry.”

“I hate you,” Aaron hissed angrily through broken sobs.

“And you have every reason to, little brother…”

Barely hearing or registering the exclaims of the bartender, Aaron lifted himself off of the barstool and headed for the door. Pushing himself into the cold night he pushed a shaking hand back through his curly hair. He was drunk, but he didn’t care. So what if he crashed? He wandered to his Jeep and pulled himself into the driver’s seat, finally making it back onto the road and heading out into the night.

His state as an immortal and arguably asocial sorcerer aside, it seemed Isaac fell prey to some strange human reflexes the same as anyone else. Currently, it was that of staring into a fridge without any idea as to what to do with its contents. Walking into the kitchen, Victor was on a mission to fetch his breakfast of choice - beer. Victor looked over to see Isaac standing by the fridge, staring into it blankly.

If Isaac noticed Victor was there, he made no indication. He tried to resist the urge to fly at Isaac and pound his head off of the linoleum. It wouldn’t do any good. Victor learned that he couldn’t win those fights. “Well, look who came out of his tower,” he clipped bitterly and walked up to the fridge. Reaching over the door, glaring at the man, he grabbed a beer and walked to the counter to find a bottle opener.

Nothing but a quiet sigh came as an answer.

The urge to scream came over him again. He ought to get some kind of award for self-restraint. Fumbling around in a drawer for the bottle opener, he took a moment to wonder where they all went. They owned nearly a dozen at this point, and yet he could never find one. Finally giving up, he shut the drawer and put the lip of the cap against the counter, and slammed down the top with his hand, popping it with a small hiss.

Silence.

Victor wanted to push Isaac into the goddamn fridge and slam the door. Noticing the rather large pile of dishes in the sink, Victor snorted bitterly again. “You’d think at this point we could afford a dishwasher.”

“I suppose we could,” Isaac replied and closed the door to the fridge. Turning to face the vampire, Victor wasn’t surprised to see a complete lack of emotion on Isaac’s face. He knew the man better to think that there wasn’t anything going on in there - but he wasn’t going to give the man any credit for anything he didn’t display.

“Muse will be staying here indefinitely,” Isaac said simply.

“You talked to her?”

“We talked, yes.”

“So you finally went to see her.” He knew the anger was clear in his eyes, and he didn’t care.

“No, she came to me.”

Victor rolled his eyes, his beer forgotten. “Whatever, Isaac. I’m still not cool with you.” Victor watched as Isaac dug through his pocket and pulled out a credit card, and put it down on the counter next to him. The sorcerer started to walk out of the room. “What’s this?”

“Debit card. Has your name on it. If she’s going to be here for a while… she’s going to need clothes of her own. Shopping and… fashion… seem to be your jurisdiction,” Isaac said, the corners of his mouth just barely twisting into a smile. Victor glared at Isaac’s back as the sorcerer left the room. Picking up the card off of the counter, he turned it over slowly in his hands. He grumbled under his breath and shoved it into his pocket, not one to turn down a gesture of kindness, or maybe pity, no matter how too-little-too-late it was. And besides, Muse shouldn’t suffer for his anger at the sorcerer.

Eric was starting to go stir-crazy. This room was so damn boring. The least they could have done was left him his phone. He could play games on it or something. Anything. At least they hadn’t forgotten to feed him, that’d suck. What they hadn’t done was give him a change of clothes. He looked down at the same “The cake is a lie” T-shirt he had been wearing for days now. He was sure he was starting to smell a bit ripe at this point.

He nearly leaped a foot in the air as the door clicked open, Michael walking in. Surprisingly, the Crusader came alone. Gesturing for Eric to follow him, he pushed the door open wider. Shrugging, Eric figured he had nothing to lose.

“You going to take me out back and shoot me like Old Yeller?”

“Hrmf,” was Michael’s response.

Eric sighed. They had no sense of humor. “No, really, where are we going?” Michael abruptly walked out of the room. Eric followed after him, catching the door before it shut and locked behind the Crusader. “Okay! Okay! I’m coming! Sheesh.” Falling in step next to the larger man, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “So-“

“We’ve decided to trust you… for now.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Eric said a little more sarcastically than he intended. “Sorry. It’s been a dull few days.”

“At least you aren’t chained to a chair.”

“You’re still bitter about that? That’s all… last month.” Eric grinned, unable to help himself. “I mean, I haven’t done anything horrible to you since at least August.”

Michael shot him a look that might have been angry but might also have been amused. Eric wondered if he was making progress. Probably not. “We’re going to need you to tell us the location of Isaac’s home.”

“Oh, no, no. I’m not telling you where it is, because then you’ll just kill me and go stomp in there on your own. I have no guarantee for my safety.” Eric was not a dumb man. He knew what he was doing. Well, mostly. Okay, he had watched a lot of action movies.

Michael grunted. “Fine. Then what do you propose is our first course of action?”

“We’re going to need help.”

“I have sufficient troops, Eric.”

“And they’ll all die. You need people with a bit more firepower than a bunch of lame-o’s in white robes and tin armor.” Eric looked to his left to the lame-o in white robes next to him and coughed. “No offense.”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut like he was attempting to keep himself from slapping Eric upside the head. “Whom exactly?”

“Not like there’s a short list of people who hate the asshole.”

“No kidding.”

They rounded a corner down another hallway. “Radu, for example.”

“No.”

“Hey, look, dude, man.” Somewhere in his mind, Eric wasn’t sure how he just said those four words together without exploding into flames. “Second-oldest vampire there is, you really don’t think he’d be helpful?”

“No,” Michael insisted firmly. “We are not going to enlist the help of a vampire lord for this. I will not sink so low.”

“Fine, well,” Eric let out a puff of air and thought it over. Then it hit him like the proverbial light bulb. God, he was brilliant. “How about Aaron?”

Muse stood in the changing room and stared at herself in the mirror. She shook her head and turned sideways. Fashion had changed since the last time she went shopping, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. She had tried to buy a bunch of clothes that resembled what she used to own, but Victor wouldn’t let her. Seeing as he was the one holding the card, she really didn’t have a choice in the matter. He went off on some lecture about how while the 80’s were supposedly in fashion again, he didn’t want to be walking around with a girl who looked like she was out of a bad David Bowie movie.

Muse didn’t see what the problem was. She liked David Bowie.

“What’s taking so long in there, woman?” Victor called.

“Hey, you took a girl clothes shopping. You should have known what you were getting yourself into. And I’m hurrying.”

“Life lesson: Never bring a girl shopping. Check.”

Muse snickered. She went back to staring at her reflection in the mirror. This was probably the sixth outfit she had tried on - she wasn’t one to refuse free clothes. She opened up the changing room door and walked out, and did a turn for him. Victor whistled. Muse tried not to laugh but decided it was better to laugh than blush, which was her other option.

“Hey, I got you something,” Victor said and tossed her a cellphone. She caught it, and looked down at it blankly, then raised an eyebrow at him.

“You mean you got me something with Isaac’s cash.” Muse turned it over, staring at it as though she had never seen one before. Namely, because she hadn’t. It was smooth on one side with a little white fruit on the back, and the whole ‘front’ of it - if that’s what it was - was a smooth surface, with only one or two buttons that she could find.

“It’s… a cellphone, Muse,” Victor reached forward and turned it on for her. She watched as the screen lit up. She knew what cellphones were, and decided not to stiffly remind him of that fact. But she had never used one before, never had a need to.

“Hun, seriously,” she leaned forward and said quietly. “I died in 1989.”

“Yeah, and?”

“We didn’t have cell phones then. The closest thing I used was a car phone. And I didn’t even own it. I don’t… I don’t know how to use this damn thing.” She poked one of the buttons and blinked as it lit up and made a weird chime noise. She waved it back and forth in front of his face slightly. “All I know is it’s cute and it lights up. Where are the buttons?”

A baffled pause. “It’s a touch screen.”

“1989,” Muse repeated. She said it again slower. “Nineteen….. eighty… nine.”

“But I-”

“1989.”

“Look it’s-”

“1989.” She waved the phone in his face again. Victor started to snicker, which sent Muse into giggles.

“Yeah, yeah, fine, I’ll show you how to use it later.” Victor slowly stopped laughing and kicked his feet up on the bench, looking at Muse with a gentle smile. “Oh, and Muse - dig the skirt.”

“Thanks.” She smirked and went back into the changing room. She blinked for a moment as she tried to figure out what exactly the look on Victor’s face meant. Shaking her head, she decided that was a thought for another time.

“You really don’t know how to use a touchscreen?” Came the still-baffled voice from the other side of the dressing-room door.

“Dude.”

“Fiiiine…”

“Hey, Vic?”

“Yeah, chickie?”

She let that one slide. Smirking, she asked him a question that had been bothering her ever since she had woken up from the coma. “Where’s Eric?”

The silence from the other side of the screen told her more than she probably needed to know. Victor finally answered. “I don’t know. It’s nothing personal, Muse. He just… had to take off for a while. He’s got to sort some stuff out. It’s not you.”

“Oh. I miss him. I was looking forward to playing video games with the nerd now that I can touch the controllers without frying the TV set.”

“Yeah…”

Silence fell over them again, and Muse knew that the blond was sulking. She kicked herself for ruining the mood. Good going, stupid.

She started to pile up the clothing that she was buying. She took a moment to study her reflection in the mirror. It was such a normal thing for people to be able to change. Change their hair, makeup, clothes - get a makeover, anything. Twenty years she spent looking exactly the same. The freedom to change what she was blew her mind. But she was dealing, one day at a time.

She blinked, and tilted her head slightly - something seemed… wrong. She curiously took a step towards the mirror. There was a black… dot… in the center of the glass. It seemed to be… growing. Stepping forward, she slowly raised her hand and reached out to touch the black spot. It started to slowly ooze out from the glass, forming a point that came straight out, then slowly started to bend down. Another spot began to appear, and then another - forming points and bending down. It looked…

“Like fingers…?” Muse said.

“What?” Victor asked from the other side.

A large, black hand shot out from the glass - the oversized hand was nearly as big as Muse’s entire torso. The hand - more of a talon - shot forward towards her, its nails indiscernible from the rest of its hand. The pointed ends came towards Muse as she screamed and staggered backwards, slamming into the opposite wall. The huge black hand stopped at the wrist, fading off into - nothing. It wasn’t attached to anything.

“Muse - what’s wrong?!” Victor burst into the changing room and knelt down next to her.

Muse pointed at the hand as it hovered overhead. Victor turned to look - but simply saw empty air. Muse watched as the hand waved at her, and then pulled back and vanished through the glass of the mirror from where it came.

“I… did you… did you see that?”

“No… What happened?”

“I don’t know… a hand…”

“A hand?”

“A big... a big black hand.. the fingers were points… Came out of the mirror… it..”

“Muse… you’re probably tired… You sure?” Victor asked quietly and stroked her hair back.

“Yeah.. I… I must be tired…” Muse let Victor help her up off of the floor. “I’m sorry…”

“S’okay, girl.” Victor ruffled her hair. “C’mon. Let’s pay for this stuff and go home, yeah?”

Muse nodded and leaned against Victor’s arm. The vampire smiled and hugged her gently. He reached down and picked up the pile of clothes and started out towards the register. Muse walked out and stopped - turning back to the mirror. Feeling a shudder run through her, she let herself be distracted by Victor’s ramblings, the excitable vampire already forgetting about the incident. Muse knew what she saw. Hopefully, he was right. Hopefully, she was just tired.

Muse walked up to her attic room - and looked at the array of bags and boxes that sat scattered just about everywhere. She started to snicker to herself. Every girl’s dream - a shopping spree. And yet…

Victor had offered her another room downstairs - a ‘real’ room. She declined, having grown fond of the attic. Mal insisted on getting her a real bed at least - that she gladly allowed. Sleeping on the sofa - which was now pushed up against the wall - wasn’t exactly comfortable. She started to fold up the clothes and put them into a dresser she dug out from the back of the attic.

Life. That’s what she had right now. Life. Staring down at the clothes that she was putting away, it still felt so odd. It was more like she was watching something else, that she was putting away someone else’s things. But all things considered, she wasn’t miserable. Something still nagged at her in the back of her mind, but it was easily silenced. Mal was quickly becoming like her bigger brother, teaching her how to play cards. Victor was… Victor was Victor, and she’d figure that all out later.

Heeee...

Muse whirled around and looked around the room. There was no one there.

Dunn-nah.

“Hello?”

Dunn-nah.

“Who… who’s there?” No answer. “Hello?” Muse tried again, slowly pivoting around in a circle.

Dunn-nah.

She blinked and looked around the room again - looking for the source of the voice. If it was a voice. It kept changing pitch, the laughing a strange, insane giggle. Finding no one, she shook her head and started to walk towards her bed, and stopped as a… black… shark fin… went past her on the floor.

A shark fin.

An actual honest-to-God shark fin.

DUNN-NAAH!

It sunk beneath the floorboards, then bobbed back up to her left.

“The hell?!”

She skittered to the right to avoid the fin as it darted closer to her feet.

“Oh god…”

She skittered to the side again and tripped, landing hard on her side. “Ungh.” She pulled her legs back to avoid the fin as it moved closer to her. She scrambled up onto the sofa and gaped at it.

RRHWWARR!!!

Muse screamed as the fin came up from the floorboards - attached to a gigantic black shark. Its teeth were gigantic, sharp, and bright orange - flickering like a jack-o-lantern. Letting out a small cry as the teeth bore down on her, she ducked her head and shut her eyes… and waited.

Nothing.

She lifted her head and looked around the room. There was nothing around her. No shark, no fin. Nothing. Muse pulled her knees up to herself and shuddered. She sat there, afraid to move. Muse lowered her head onto her knees and shut her eyes tightly, shaking.

I am slowly going crazy, one two three four five six switch!

The voice had started singing into his head again. It had been at it for at least two hours now. Aaron was sitting in the corner of another hotel room, holding onto his head. The booze wasn’t helping him shut any of it out this time.

Crazy going slowly am I, six five four three two one switch!

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Aaron groaned out desperately.

You do realize, dear boy, that you’re wasting time. You could be murdering your older brother, saving your dear little damsel in distress, and being the hero you’ve always wanted to be. Oh, wait, no, you couldn’t be, because you’re too sad and pathetic to actually get up and do anything.

“Shut up, please,” he begged. He started slapping the side of his head, trying to maybe knock the voice out of his ear.

I wonder if she and Victor have had sex yet… Now I suppose those two just make a charming couple. She’s not dead anymore, you remember?

“No, no, no, stop it!” Aaron felt that anger bubble up in him again. He was slipping. He knew he was. Part of him just wanted to give up and let go. It would be such a relief.

Only girl in a house full of men… And now she can’t even defend herself… I wonder who has slaked their frustrations on her… for shame. And you’re not there to save her from them.

“Stop!” Aaron howled, thrashing in the corner, kicking out in front of him in a useless attempt to fend off the voice in his head.

You are the only common denominator in all of this, you realize. You’re not good enough for her. You’ve already failed her. How do you honestly think that she would have ever accepted you when you’re such a coward?

It was all slipping loose. He could feel it starting to snap. The furniture around him was starting to rattle, the glass in the frames shattering.

Look at you, sitting in the corner and crying like a child…

The TV exploded by the wall, the phone on the nightstand was suddenly pushed through the wood top and through the floor below with a loud crunch.

She would never love you!

Aaron howled in pain as his world - and the motel - came crashing down around him.