(10.1) Bits’n'Pieces

Chapter 10, Part 1

I had almost made it to the edge of the building when it dawned on me that I was at least 16 stories up and my panic-induced running had actually led me away from the fire escape. I was, in point of fact, pondering just how in the hell I was going to manage to get back to the fire escape and down it without getting shot when something small and distinctly bullet shaped wedged itself into my shoulder.

It took a second for the pain and realization of what had just happened to enter my conscious thought. It took even less time however, for the impact to send me off-balance and down to the ground. And no, not the ground of the roof. Ground floor ground.

What happened next is something that I don’t really recall too well. I seem to remember my head getting smacked around a bit, possibly having bounced off of the broken flag pole that sat on top of me. Then again, when I managed to stand up I noticed that I was next to the dumpster that had my gear stashed behind it. There was a dent that I don’t remember seeing in the lid the that might’ve caused my memory lapse too.

There was no telling how long I’d been out, as when I reached in my pocket, expecting to grab my phone, I instead found a mass of broken plastic. I chucked the pieces away, sending them clattering into the side of building before remembering that I should have taken the SIM card out, so I’d at least be able to keep the phone numbers to my contacts. It took a minute or two to find, but eventually the little bastard made its way back into my possession.

All in all, the only thing I could really tell from after my trip was that the landing had ruined my clothes, as well as miraculously spawning more bullet holes. I cried a little inside as I tore the bloody rags that had once been very expensive shirt and pant set off, using the non-bloodied bits to clean myself. I could feel the flesh wounds and some of my bones repair themselves as I did this, my nose actually shifting slightly, making it easier to breathe when it crunched back into place. When I was all patched up, I changed into the last set of clothing stashed away in my bag.

With my anger over my idiocy fading, the full brunt of my night’s exertions began to set in. It had been a while since my shared drink with Angel and in that time I’d been in a bus wreck, shot more times than I could count, and been subject to at least two psychic assaults and fallen off of a building. The fact that my bag was starting to actually feel heavy was what made me realize that I needed to feed.

Despite my actions over the past few nights, I prefer to drink from the bag. It’s not as fun or as fresh as the old-school way of doing things like, you know, luring an unsuspecting victim into a dark alley and seducing them into dropping their guard until yadda yadda so-on and such. That was what Sam lived for, he was all about that kind of thing. Sam, unlike me however, had never been maced.

Hey, undead or not, that stuff isn’t pleasant.

Mace was a risk I’d have to take tonight though. I was hungry and there was no telling how much more flexing my power it would take before I flexed myself out of existence. “Maybe,” I said to myself, adjusting my bag to a more comfortable position as I took to the street. “I’ll be able to find myself a nice nun who got lost.”

I chuckled a bit at that, whistling “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” to myself as I strolled down the empty street.