I woke up to find myself confined. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even see. I screamed and began clawing at the darkness, feeling solid nothing in front of me. Harder and harder I clawed at it, crying and pleading to God to give me a miracle. Perhaps not Him, but something did as its strength filled my arms and hands. We tore through the solid nothing, and fought through a rushing tide of more blackness before finally reaching light.



The pale moon was almost blinding as we broke through to the surface. Our senses basked in the feel of the cool autumn rain, the glow on our perfect ebony skin, the smell of flowers placed on headstones. We turned and saw the name etched on our headstone: ANN WEYING. A name from long ago, back when I loved this would-be journalist named Eddie. He meant well, but he got too ambitious for his own good and it cost him everything. All he had since was hate, and it attracted something that turned his hate into power.



It came back to me then. The power, the ecstasy, the hunger... Eddie had shared it with me several times. It was incredible, but I saw what it did to him and I feared for what it would do to me. In my panic, I killed myself thinking it wouldn't get me anymore, but now I realize that it had left enough of itself in me to heal my wounds and hide my life-signs, and then it waited until we were strong enough to wake up again. Ironic, isn't it? The very thing that made me kill myself saved my life instead.



Eddie can't know about us, even as we rebury the gravesite as best we can. He's suffered enough because of this blasted thing, and if I'm going to suffer as well, the least I can do is not be a further burden. It probably wouldn't be too hard to start over. We can change our looks, forge some papers (not hard for a lawyer like me), and hop the first bus to San Francisco. He said he used to protect that city, in his own rowdy way... perhaps we can continue where he left off.