Hilton Hotel

Harley made a small moan of a sound as she rolled over in her bed. The comforters were indeed quite comforting after the previous day's ordeal. Her body had sustained a few bruises, but she found no major injuries during her shower. Harley had even managed to hire someone to go out and shop for her. It was surprising that personal shopper was a profession, but not too surprising. With enough money one could probably hire someone to wipe their ass for them.

Eyelids fluttered open and quickly squinted as sun feel into her eyes. She knew she should have closed the blind before going to sleep. Harley reached for the curtains, eye closed, and managed to wrap her fingers around the soft fabric. In a few jerky motions she managed to close the blinds so that annoying solar rays were no longer interrupting her morning. The night before the Praetorious had given her a ride back to her hotel. Harley couldn't help but wonder if she'd see him again.

As she walked to the large vanity mirror on the other side of the room Harley wondered if she would see any of the people from the night before. Especially Lucas. He was odd. Attractive, but odd. Perhaps it was because he was charismatic. . . Too charismatic. Taking a brush to her hair Harley thought of what he would look like dead. Sex and death were closely related to Harley. She laughed in spite of herself. There was no way in hell she was going to wind up seeing anyone again.

It was then that a glint at the edge of the dresser that the mirror was situated upon caught Harley's eye. On the cream colored furniture piece sat a ticket. The ticket that Elata girl had given her. Harley gingerly picked the ticket up, inspecting it. Would any of the others be going? It wasn't probable. However, it was possible.

Besides, there wasn't any harm in checking the place out, right?

Harley grinned in investigative puzzlement as she watched the wound stop bleeding at Lucas' command. If he wasn't spilling out information like a data fountain she would have mugged him for his Object. Harley still hadn't realized an Object wasn't what was behind Lucas' ability. While that may have been true she'd still have wanted to power anyway. Harley crumpled the paper towel up in her hands and folded them in her lap as she listened to Lucas prattle on.

Harley bit her lip and thought about what Jack could possibly want with her. She leaned back in her seat and pouted out her lips as she played with a strand of her hair. How in the blue hell was she supposed to know? He was friggin Jack Empty, did he need a reason for wanting her services? No, she wouldn't think so. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to her to go out to Quebec on a whim. Or worse, to kill her. Not that it would do much good. She'd just come back. Although, he could always kill her again. She could imagine that going on till the other grew bored. It wasn't an attractive though to entertain.

"I don't know what he would want with me." Harley noted dully, rolling the window of the car down. "I helped him once." She added, tilting her head to the side and her gaze growing far in a day dreamy fashion. "With Glasgow. He'd off and found Lafayette, said he wanted him to rent me out for a bit so I could help him kill that pedophile bastard." There was an acidic connotation in her voice as she remembered the Glasgow Dandy. "He could want me to off and kill someone for him again." She added, turning her head back upright. "Though, I can't see why he doesn't just do it himsel--Oh, we're here."

The car pulled into the parking lot of the Hilton Hotel. Harley stepped out of the car and looking into the space.

"I suppose I'm going to Quebec then?" She asked, smiling in spite of her situation. "Do you want me to have--" Harley paused, forgetting the driver's name for she hadn't remembered asking for it.

"Nathan." The driver cut in.

"Nathan here drive you to the hospital or would you rather me look at that?" She made a motion with her head at the wounds that had been inflicted on Lucas. "Though, with that little talent of yours I wouldn't be surprised if you could take care of it yourself." The comment was made to try and pull more information regarding his ability out of him, but she doubted he would talk about it.

Lucas smiled, "It's not my talent. It's not even my doing. I think you could look at it. You're a surgeon or something, right? I need to know if that god damn thing punctured a lung, otherwise I'm fine."

His first remark would screw with her for a while. Even if she just went under the assumtion it was an Object.

But wait, she was talking about Jack as though he were still capable of planning; good god, she hadn't figured it out.

Lucas sighed as he realised he'd need to throw tact to the wind, "I don't think Jack will be looking for you to kill someone, well, it's not likely anyways. You see, he's gone mad.

"Well, madder," clarified Lucas. "We are no longer at the planning stage of thought, here. Unless 'I'll kill him for what he's done to me and my sons' repeated over and over counts as a plan. He said your name, though, 'My little friend Harlot's gone away, gone away and back again'. That was last night. Really, my plan was quite wonderful; for something done in night. If I'd had two I could have had us already at Quebec."

"More mad?" The thought almost made Harley laugh. "I suppose old age has finally gotten to him then." She giggled menacingly as she pushed the door to the hotel open and sauntered inside. Quickly she led Lucas into an elevator and pounded on the close button in hopes that they wouldn't be stuck with anyone else. Lucky for the pair they weren't. The elevator made a small ping of a noise and headed up to floor ten.

"Well, I still have no idea what he'd possibly want with little ol' me." Harley laughed, placing a hand over her heart and quite plainly feigning modesty. The doors to the elevator opened after a time with a small ping and Harley walked out into the hallways and to her hotel room. "I don't see what I have to do with any of this. Still, if it gets me the hell out of Sacramento I don't see how it matters. I could do without all this dry heat and all the morbidly obese people floating about." She ushered Lucas into the hotel room.

"Go take a seat somewhere, stay off the bed." She called over to him as she tore the shower curtains from the rod they hung from. The sound of her heels clicked on the tiles as she moved out and then became soft thuds as she made her way into the bedroom and spread the curtain into the bed. "Lay on that." She directed him, walking into a storage closet and finding a Hefty bag.

"I don't have an X-ray machine on hand so I'm probably going to need to cut you open." Harley muttered casually as she opened the night stand up. There in the drawer sat a plethora of tools and other assorted equipment. One could wonder why Harley hadn't just taken it open herself to do surgery. Her answer to the statement was that one didn't exactly have a good look into their own torso, and thus self surgery one anything other than appendages or stitching was quite inconvenient.

"Any objections?" She set aside a few tools.

Lucas looked at Harley, trying to figure out if she was going to kill him once he was under the knife. On the one hand; she thought he had an Object, on the other she knew that he was allies with Jack. Ah, hell, there was always Mr. Filth.

"Let me make a call first," he quickly dialed Mr. Filth's cell.

"Whaisit?"

"Mr. Filth, this is Lucas. I'm at Hilton in Sacramento with Harley, an assoiciate of Jack's. If I don't call you back in... oh, an hour, assume I'm dead. Bring hell on the girl."

Lucas smiled at Harley, "Okay, let's get ready."

Harley stared up at Lucas for a moment from her kneeling stance at the drawer. She rolled her eyes and shut the drawer, shaking her head and laughing to herself as she did so. Harley took the hefty bag and with one red handle put it over her head and around her neck. Taking a belt that was laying near the end of the bed she tied it around her waist to keep in in place. Harley made a mental note that she'd need to bring a smock of some sort with her next time she traveled, god knew if she'd need to do that again in Quebec.

"I wouldn't kill you." Harly laughed. "I haven't even slept with you yet."Harley and pulled on a pair of gloves. From a spray bottle she pulled out chloroform. She'd come to find that spraying a few drops just under people's noses took on a more instantaneous effect.

Cutting open Lucas wasn't the hard part. Blood trickled down his sides and pooled near the wound. But, that wasn't too difficult to manage. Especially with the shower curtain on the bed. It was finding out if the lung was punctured that was difficult. The lighting in the room wasn't exactly made to accommodate surgical purposes. Fumbling through her dressers and trying to get as little blood onto the wood work as she could she looked for a flashlight. She found a tiny little pen light, it would have to do.

Harley examined the lung, prodded it and ran a finger over it. She had to say that Lucas had lovely organs. Perhaps she would tell him so when he came to. From what Harley could tell, the lung itself was fine. Which was great, because putting in a chest tube would prove to be extremely inconvenient. With a sight of relief Harley began to stitch Lucas up. Harley always hated doing stitches. Sewing fabric was one thing, sewing skin was something completely different. It all felt quite disgusting to her. That was why she normally left her victims with gaping holes in their chests. Harley grimaced as she realized she'd probably need to take care of the gash in his shoulder too. Luckily, the arm needed no repairing other than some gauze.

Antibiotic was applied to the stitches after wards, along with the gash in his shoulder. Antiseptic was a calming scent for Harley, it reminded her of home. Or at least the hospital. Harley wasn't sure she'd considered anything home. The wounds that were inflicted on Lucas bothered her though. Despite the antiseptic applied and the bandages over them they seemed to smell. Not an unidentifiable smell. Not something so bad so consider it a stench. It just smelled other worldly. Perhaps it was traces of some sort of Black Magic. Or, perhaps an Object that Muramasa may have been using. Whatever the matter, they weren't normal injuries.

"Wake up hun. Tell me how you feel." She raised her voice, though not quite a yell, and slapped Lucas lightly on the cheek. She then scurried off to the door way she found a few plastic bags. Hopefully her shopper had also gotten her morphine.

Lucas was beginign to come to. Pain lashed where the wound was and where he had been cut open.

He pushed it back, calming himself, "Stop that."

The searing ceased.

He began to hum, content that he was no longer going to die. It was one of the Order's hymes called, 'And then He pushed God down'. It refered to a time when Christ was spreading word in Nastereth and Jack came and made it so that the witch-child could work none of his illusions.

It was a happy tune.

"We can go to Quebec tommorrow; I'll make arrangments. And, ah, one moment."

He called up Mr. Filth, "Hello, it's Lucas, am I speaking to the same Mr. Filth? I contacted you earlier to attack a Hotel if I didn't call back in an hour."

"Yeah, ye did. You alive then?"

"It would appear so."

"Good," and Filth hung up the phone.

Lucas turned back to Harley, "And now that you know, roughly, what I am are you interested in, how shall I put this, having animal sex? I promise I'll only screw with your body, not your mind."

Harley stopped looking for her pill bottle. There was a long silence in the room as Harley looked up from what she was doing and stared at Lucas. Then, there was a loud raucous laughter. Harley clutched onto her bony ribs and tried to stifle defiant giggles that bubbled up and out of her throat. She keeled over and sputtered a few laughs before straightening up and wiping a tear from her eye, giggling while sighing in recovery.

"Oh dear. . ." Harley began taking in air. "That was cute, you're cute, I'll give you that." She wagged her finger at him while she took off her makeshift apron. Harley removed her latex gloves and sat down in a chair near the bed. "However, I'm going to have to decline." There was a pause and she began speaking again before Lucas could start.

"I'll tell you why. See, I have to go see Jack. Now, you may be an associate of his, you may not. Still, I can't have you warping my mind before I see him." She inspected her nails. "And, I can't take your word for it. I haven't known you long enough to trust you. It was a nice try though, maybe on another day I would have agreed. Maybe."

"Well, it was worth a try," he was tired, anyways, the beast had expended a lot of his energy. Right, the beast...

"What was that thing? It was... bothering Jack. Or at least that's what we think. Jack was screaming about a mouthless man before He bolted for Sacramento. He spent about six hours here before moving off to Quebec. I need to figure out what He did here, if it relates to that thing and how He expects us to deal with it.

"So far, it seems Jack spent a few minutes near your gloved friend. Has he done anything relating to the beast?"

Good god, the woman was vain. It carried through the rooms. She had set up several extra mirrors, namely. He hoped that she would let him leave for the night. He needed to do something. Hopefully, it would have black hair.

"The man." Harley refrained from using Praetorious' name on purpose. She was unsure just how well he'd wanted to be known. "Had a brief encounter with Muramasa." Harley informed Lucas, taking a barrette out from her hair. "As did I and the man with red hair back at the library. I don't think he knew why though, I'm not sure any of us do. If I could guess I'd say it has something to do with the Objects. Everything always goes back to them in some manner." She remarked flippantly.

"I say I just ask Jack himself." She added, removing her necklace and placing it on a nightstand. "I should be able to get it out of him, I see no reason why he'd keep it a secret. Unless he's gone completely off his rocker." Harley added, tracing her collar bone with her fingers. "What time are going to Quebec by the way?" She asked. "I'd like to know so I can get ready tomorrow morning."

Pushing aside a curtain Harley cast a scrutinizing gaze over Sacramento. Her gaze shifted from the river that she'd fallen into to Lucas' reflection in the glass. "Speaking of tomorrow morning, don't you have somewhere to be?" Harley asked while tapping her fingers on the glass. "I'd suspect you have better things to do than pull answers out from me. Though, I can see you so obviously enjoy my company." The last sentence was brassy satire.

"You'll see how bad He's doing," Lucas sighed, it hurt him to think of how Jack was, "We should leave early, we need to drive to the shore. The Pride will take us the rest of the way.

"I'd also bring guns. Lots of guns. Mariah's been acting up lately."

With that, he left.

He pondered what maddens must feel like. What it must taste like. Probably a new world bubbling up from beneath the old. It was dark, now. And cold. Lucas missed the Paris caverns.

Sliding the magazine out of his Steyr AUG and twisting out the 508-millimeter barrel, Thomas Raine turned back to the newspapers, pictures, and files that covered the floor of his hotel room like a snowfall. Setting down his weapon and getting down on all fours, he moved like a strange jungle animal through the inundation of papers. Crawling in a way that suggested meticulous caution, Raine stepped between and around scattered files, not disturbing anything as he moved.

There. He found it. A newspaper clipping said that a man named Gualter Wilson had been found with a hole in his chest by a rural highway not far off from Sacramento just three days ago. Raine grabbed up the clipping greedily, extricating himself from the inundation of papers. He held it before him as he stood back up, reading the text as he climbed onto his bed. Above the sparse, low-rent sleeping space was a large cork board, one of Raine's few remaining possessions. It was thumbtacked all over with newspaper clippings of various kills the murderer had made, arrows drawn in Sharpie between victims to show the killer's direction.

Finding a tack, Raine put up Gualter Wilson's clipping, drawing an arrow to it from John Wheatley's obituary. To any outside observer, the board would have been totally incomprehensible, obituaries connected together in a bizarre web, chicken-scratch handwriting scrawled upon most of them, making the text nigh-illegible. However, it was clear as day to Raine. He had begun to notice pattern's in the murderer's killings- for example, his movements were random. This was useful, because Raine in the beginning had lost weeks of sleep trying to predict the killer's movements. Now, there was comfort in knowing that he could only follow. And this was alright, because of another pattern of the killer's- he never killed only one or two Seekers (he'd figured this out long ago) in an area. He stuck around, killing at least three, sometimes five or more in one city or state before moving on. Wilson was the first. Raine still had at least two more kills to track him down.

Would he be able to? That was always the question. The murderer was a ghost. He left absolutely no evidence at his crime scene. Raine guessed that he used vehicles stolen from his victims, because there was never one license plate number to tie him to. And, to top it all off, the killer had all the information. Raine didn't know who was a Seeker just by looking at them. And he certainly couldn't ask. Therefore, it was nearly impossible to anticipate a kill. Then how would he track him down at last? Raine hadn't the faintest idea. A sudden spurt of rage filled him at the thought of this. Not finding the killer was unacceptable. He refused to accept it as a possibility. He'd rather be killed by the murderer than not find him at all. Raine quivered at the thought of losing him.

He laid back on the bed, trying to make himself relax. His hands were clenched tightly into fists, and he could feel a small rivulet of dripping blood on his palm, where he assumed his fingernail had broken the skin. Raine breathed in for four iterations of his heartbeat, then out for two. He did the same thing again. It was his exercise, his way of keeping himself in check. He breathed again.

Reaching under the bed, Raine's hand searched for a moment before he found what he was looking for, withdrawing a small vial of blood. He held it up over his face, looking at it as his own blood dripped from his hand. Swirling it slightly, he felt the magnetic pull of the Object on his mind, the strange hypnotic trance it induced. For the moment, he gave in to it, letting himself be lost in the tiny whirlpool of blood as it collided with the sides of the vial. He exhaled again, and felt the Object fill his soul for the briefest of moments.

---

Raine snapped out of the reverie some time later, a few beads of sweat on his face. He felt calm and relaxed, at peace. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It read 4:30 PM. Which meant that he'd slept through an entire twenty-four hours. Shit.

Tranquility shattered, Raine rolled over, finding the side holster for his MP5, along with the sheath for his sword. The end of the scabbard went diagonally down to his right, behind his back so he could draw it easily with his left hand. The holster also went on his left side. Fastening the straps of both securely, Raine found his gun, checking the ammunition. The magazine had twenty-five rounds. He found another, sticking it into the loop just before the gun itself on the strap. He then picked up the Holder of Thunder's sword, sliding it into the sheath. He pulled on a dark grey trench coat, pulling it around him to hide his gun. Satisfied that he was properly armed, Raine stepped carefully over the various documents strewn across the floor.

The front desk took some notice of his somewhat ratty clothes and trench coat, but who the hell were they to judge? Raine paid his bills. Not giving them a second look, he pushed aside the door, walking out into the street.