The world sucked.

Everything was awful, and Jack wished he could go back to the drug-induced blissful serenity of the day before. If it was a new day. He had more than a few more cuts, so either Farragut was particularly peckish, or time was passing.

His high had not only given him a reprieve, but it opened his mind to the fact that he let his anxiety control his life. Even before Farragut, he wasn't into change or going to new places. He had hated moving to Portswain. Before Farragut, he could suck it up and deal with it. Fake his way through an oncoming attack to get some privacy. Now, there was the pervasive thought that something was out to get him.

It was, and it got him despite his paranoid precautions.

Farragut burst into the room, and Jack pressed himself as far into the corner as possible, wincing at the stings that raced across his back.

"We're leaving, Sparky."

Farragut was more disheveled than Jack had ever seen him. Did the cops finally track him down? A spark of hope lit up his defiance. "I'm staying."

"Now listen close, you little shit, you're coming with me, and you're gonna like it. I'm not losing the best smoothie I've ever tasted again," Farragut hissed as he grabbed the chair and threw it against the wall beside Jack. "Got it?"

"I don't—"

"You're not getting a choice! You wanna keep your legs? I'll gladly toss you in a backpack and lug you around. Or maybe you'd rather have a lobotomy. Get up."

Jack shook as he stood. Aside from fleeting thoughts, he'd never been one to truly contemplate suicide. As Farragut grabbed the sides of his face and forced him to meet wild eyes, it was looking like a valid option.

But would he ever get the chance?

He sucked at every bit of saliva he could gather and spat at Farragut.

"You little fucking…"

Jack cried out as Farragut's grip tightened, and he pulled away. The tip of a blade emerged from Farragut's stomach, poking between the buttons of his shirt. Jack stumbled back, covering his mouth and swallowing as bile threatened to surface. He fell onto the mattress and banged against the upturned leg of the chair, his eyes caught on the protruding blade and streaming blood.

Farragut hunched over, revealing Kieran.

"You've broken too many of our rules," Kieran said, pushing the blade in another inch. His frown deepened as he briefly glanced down at the handle of the sword he held. "This is going to be a bit of a hassle when I remove your head."

Farragut made an attempt to kick back at Kieran, but was neatly dodged. "Who the fuck are you?" he growled, making a swipe with his hand.

Instead of answering, Kieran pulled the sword partway out then angled it higher, thrusting back in with a grunt. Farragut let out a strangled cry and sagged lifelessly to the floor between Kieran and Jack.

"Detective Fairchild is on the east side of the building. The way is clear, my sweet. Just go down the hall and turn left."

Jack swallowed thickly, unable to pull his eyes away from Farragut. How long did vampires stay dead? "I should probably stay put. Or keep a look out, s-so you can get away?"

"That's very brave of you, but no," Kieran said softly as he knelt in front of Jack. He slowly reached out and gently cupped Jack's cheek. "You needn't bear witness to this particular nightmare."

"But I… I need him dead. I need to see him stay dead," Jack begged, his eyes still glued to Farragut, looking for any sign of movement.

"Stand in the hall. I'll make this as quick as possible."

"Not too quick, I hope," Jack petulantly bit out.

Kieran smiled sadly and stood, holding out his hand to Jack. "I'm working with borrowed time, and your friend doesn't know I'm here."

Jack swallowed and nodded as he took Kieran's hand. He stared at their hands for a moment before noticing his naked forearm. He quickly let go and wrapped his arms against his stomach. "He'll be dead-dead?"

"Decapitation and cremation usually does the trick." Kieran stepped back, keeping himself between Jack and Farragut.

"But… I mean… Don't the cops need the body?" Jack finally pulled his eyes away and stared at the tuft of hair that curled at Kieran's left temple.

A soft crinkling came from the doorway, and Jack's eyes darted over. He never thought he'd be relieved to see Benoit, much less be surrounded by vampires, but here he was.

She even brought food. And a space heater. He made a soft, confused groan and looked from the large bag of potato chips to Benoit's charming smile.

"Unfortunately, some space heaters are rather finicky. My Harold almost burned the house down with one. They tip over, and…" Benoit sighed and shrugged. "There goes my Persian rug. A beautifully destructive end to a work of art. Come, dear flame, time is running out."

"What… Why…" None of this made sense. Was he being rescued, or had he been given some other drug? Had he been enthralled in some other way? The thought set his stomach on edge.

"Jack. I'm starting."

Kieran's voice was a welcome warmth, and Jack had to believe it was real. He didn't feel out of it. He cared about his surroundings and getting out. It had to be real.

He let his head drop and softly padded out of the room and stood outside the door. The door shut behind him, but he could still hear Kieran and Benoit moving around. He shook and clamped his hands over his ears just as he heard Benoit criticizing Kieran's technique.

He stared down the hallway. He should just go. Meet up with Sam and leave this hellish nightmare behind. Even if he got lost, someone would find him. He could find a quiet, well-lit corner and hunker down.

He yelped when a hand touched his shoulder. He spun and raised his hands, ready to claw at his attacker. He softly gasped as his eyes landed on Kieran, and he tucked his arms back against his stomach. He could hear Benoit's humming coming from within the room, and wished he'd kept his hands over his ears.

"Do you still wish to see?"

Jack dropped his eyes to the floor. After a long, deep breath, he nodded. He let Kieran guide him to the threshold and swallowed thickly before slowly tracking his eyes across the floor to a pair of familiar shoes. He glanced away repeatedly as he followed the line of Farragut's body.

His breath caught at the sight of the abrupt and bloody end of Farragut's neck. The skin and flesh on the neck were a torn and mangled mess. Barely a foot away lay Farragut's head, staring lifelessly ahead. There wasn't as much blood as he thought there should be.

He stepped back and flinched away when he ran into Kieran.

"Will you be alright?" Kieran asked, his voice low and soothing.

Jack shook his head and shrugged. He sagged against Kieran as he was pulled into a tight hug. He swallowed as his breath hitched, too aware of Kieran's hands touching his skin.

"You should go," said Kieran. "I can't come with you, my sweet, but I will see you after."

Jack nodded and reluctantly pulled away. He glanced over and watched for a moment as Benoit sprinkled the potato chips on and around Farragut's body. She looked over and gave him a sad smile then returned to her work, still humming.

He wrapped his arms around himself and made his way out of the room. He stood in the hallway as he gathered his wits and willed away the numbness and nausea creeping over him. The hall seemed too big and too small at the same time.

He swallowed and looked up at Kieran. He just had to hold on until he found Sam. "What do I tell them?" he asked.

"He came for you, you resisted, and he tripped as he pulled you along."

It was a stupidly simple story. Who would believe it? "That's kinda weak."

"The less involved your story, the more believable," Kieran said as he lightly stroked Jack's hair.

Jack shied away from the touch. "Right. He tripped, I ran. Or… Or you could just…pop it right in there," he said, motioning to his head.

"You've been through enough of that."

Benoit came out from behind Kieran, wearing a disgusted sneer. "And to have been subjected to enthrallment by such indelicate filth. It's a wonder you're not locked up, little flame."

Too late for that. But her words did bring up a good point. "Like…like Renfield? In Dracula? That's a thing? That's why—" Jack cut himself off, his breaths sharp and shallow.

"Some stories have their basis in fact," Kieran replied. "Now, go. Please."

"Yeah. Going."

Jack stumbled as he started down the hall, banging into the wall. He regained his balance and used the wall for support as he slowly made his way to where Kieran said Sam would be. Or the general area. Down the hall and somewhere. At the end of the hall, he looked between his two choices. He could see sunlight peeking through a window on the left, so that was as good of a sign as any.

He reached the end of the second hall and could hear loud voices. He swallowed and shakily raised his arms. He was almost there. He could keep it together a little longer. Besides, he'd been arrested before, and the cops probably didn't care what sort of mess his arms were in. He dropped them with a choked sob and stumbled to the wall. He sank down and hid his arms between his legs and chest, listening to the voices as they drew closer.

Soon, there was shouting. The hall filled with people and noise, and Jack curled into himself tighter, cringing away from the overwhelming cacophony.

The hall quieted as he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He gasped for breath as he raised his eyes to see Sam kneeling before him.

"You back with us?" Sam quietly asked.

Jack swallowed and shook his head, tucking it back between his knees. The touch on his shoulder turned to a light squeeze.

"Do you know where Farragut is?"

Jack pulled an arm free and waved it in the direction he had come. He groaned pitifully at the sudden silence that filled the hall and hid his arm again. Heavy boots quickly made off down the hallway.

"We're gonna find him, Jack."

"He was supposed to be dead," Jack sobbed. "I was supposed to be getting my life together."

Sam pulled Jack onto a tight hug. "I know."