Bloodcircle - Chapter Seven
Jun. 16th, 2022 12:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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i_read_whatLast chapter, the investigation started heating up and Jack got bashed in the head a few times. As tends to happen.
So the chapter starts off in that slightly incoherent, choppy style that demonstrates Jack's wavering consciousness.
Light.
A hand on my wrist.
Mitch, are they— My God, Elma, get back in the car. Fear in his voice.
Footsteps. A door slams shut.
The man keeps saying my God over and over again before he finally backs away and leaves.
His voice raises in a shout, then a curse.
The wet rush and roar as a car drives quickly past.
Rain.
Wind.
That kind of thing. It goes on for a while, and we witness, through Jack, the discovery of the bodies. (His own, and the cab driver, Banks.)
Jack's pretty much immobilized and when you're a vampire, that means that you're dead. Now what's really interesting is that it SOUNDS like it passes into daylight. The sun is out, and Jack's still partially aware. In agony, but partially aware. There had been mention that he'd been wrapped in a blanket, so that must be enough protection. But it's fascinating.
Eventually, he goes full out though, and wakes up to someone calling his name. Charles, of course. It takes a while for Jack to respond, but he does. Charles gets the story out of him and hands him a some blood and a tube to drink it with.
Charles really is a phenomenal boyfriend.
So they're at the local funeral parlor, which doubles as the coroner's examination room. Jack is rather more officially a dead body than usual. Oops. Charles will have to figure out a way to get Jack out of there, but they have some time to rest and get their bearings first. That's good, because Jack needs it. Apparently the coroner had to pull wood scrapings out of his skull. OW.
So eventually more alert, Jack and Charles touch base. Jack only managed to avoid an autopsy because Charles thought fast. I like this bit:
“I did. I said I had to notify your family first, and then I told them you were a Christian Scientist.”
My jaw dropped of its own accord, as it usually does when I don’t understand something. “Huh?”
“I said they were like orthodox Jews in that their religion absolutely forbade autopsies.”
“Does it?”
He suddenly smiled. “Actually, I haven’t the least idea, but it worked for the time being, and that’s all that matters.”
“Why didn’t you say I was an orthodox Jew?”
“I could not because you were out driving round after sunset on a Friday, the beginning of their Sabbath; something a practicing Jew would have avoided.” He offered me the shirt.
Charles is so clever. And actually, it occurs to me that my grandmother's family are Christian Scientists and I don't know what they think about autopsies either. I'd IMAGINE they're not on board. I should find out.
Anyway, Charles has brought clothes. He's still staying at the inn. In fact, he's been asked not to leave town. Apparently Escott is a suspect. Escott thinks that this happened because he fucked up and got too obvious when he questioned folks about the Franchers and the fire, and spooked someone.
One thing though, apparently he doesn't think that Barrett is guilty anymore. He'll explain why at the inn. So Jack uses mist form to sneak himself out of the examination room. Charles is packing up the blood supply: it's in a milk bottle. I never get tired of hearing the explanations as to how Charles does what he does. This one is great:
“I looked for and found a likely farm late this afternoon. If you were to recover—and I’m very glad you have—it seemed logical to provide for it. Blood appears to be the universal panacea for all your ills, and I wanted to be prepared.”
“Thanks.”
He shrugged it off, not one for gushing gratitude. It only embarrassed him.
“What’d you tell the farmer, that you were making blood sausage?”
“No, but that is a good suggestion. I said I was collecting blood samples from some of the area livestock.”
“Didn’t he think it kind of strange?”
“Yes, but fortunately the fellow was a Democrat, and that helped. I said I was a veterinarian working for the NRA and our branch of it was researching blood ailments in cattle. We needed samples for testing and offered monetary compensation for each pint collected.”
Hee.
Charles brushes off Jack's gratitude by pointing out that Jack bought him dinner the other night. He reclaims something else: a small packet of Jack's home soil that he'd snuck under the table when Jack wasn't looking.
Best boyfriend ever.
Anyway, they start heading back to the inn (the car was impounded as evidence), when Jack spots Emily Francher's Studebaker, Jonathan Barrett inside, heading to the funeral parlor. Jack's inclined to book it. But Barrett messes up that plan by then heading to the inn himself. He seems to be waiting for them. Escott, as mentioned, doesn't think Barrett's the culprit, but he doesn't think Jack's up for the confrontation.
This does leave Escott without his planned alibi, but Jack suggests that they get spotted in a watering hole instead. As they walk, they discuss Escott's blood-extraction ability. Apparently he manages his own squeamishness by pretending to be a vet.
So at the bar, they talk. Jack thinks the culprit had to be Barrett: he knew to use wood. He asks why Escott thinks Barrett's innocent: the blows weren't heavy enough. The killer had killed Banks well enough, but Jack is sturdier. Barrett would have known he was trying to murder a vampire though, and he would have compensated rather than leave Jack to survive.
Jack points out that an autopsy might well have finished the job. But Charles thinks that the killer was unaware of his condition. He explains the "official theory" of the murders: Banks picked up a fare, who made him stop, bashed his head in, robbed him, and Jack was the poor bystander who got attacked when the killer was still there.
Charles thinks the killer heard Jack and Banks speaking and thought he'd given Jack a clue. Escott thinks so too. He thinks the woman was real, and he thinks it's Laura Francher.
Jack had ruled out Laura in an earlier chapter because she was too tall. But she's nineteen. She would have been fourteen or fifteen back then. Banks had said something about change. Laura would have grown tall.
Jack's freaked out and frustrated, and Charles has some insight:
“I’ll tell you what happened: Maureen got in that cab, went to Port Jefferson, and then to parts unknown. We show up way too late, ask some questions, and then some creep just happens to kill Banks and nearly gets me. We’re trying to make this thing more complicated than it really is.”
He drank his drink, listening until I’d run down and was out of nonsense. “Do you wish to drop this and go home?”
“I don’t know… yes. I think so.”
He pushed the glass aside, got out his pipe, and spent some time lighting it. He puffed and played with the match stubs with an absent finger. “I see.”
But he didn’t, and I started up another protest, which he cut off with a raised hand.
“I see that you’re tired, upset, and frightened.”
I glared at him.
“You’ve had too much coming at you in too short a time. Just because your physical nature has drastically altered is no reason to think your emotional nature shares the same advantages.”
I mean, he's not wrong. And let's be honest here, Jack doesn't really have the best coping mechanisms for trauma. And so far, he's got a fucking lot of it. Anyway, Escott basically tells him that he understands Jack's feelings, but even if Jack goes home, Escott won't. Not yet.
...that's a bit of emotional blackmail dude. You may be losing some of your best boyfriend credit. Jack does NOT want to leave Escott to get murdered by Barrett. Jack gives in.
“You know if you stay you could get yourself killed. Barrett can do it without even trying.”
He nodded a little, his gray eyes yellow in this light. Of all people, he knew exactly what he was up against, and it still didn’t seem to bother him.
My breath exploded out in a sigh. “All right. I’ll admit I’m scared. I don’t like what we’re doing and what might come out of it, but we both know that only a real bastard would run out now, and I’m no bastard.”
He put down the pipe, maybe a little relieved after all.
“But,” I added, “I’ve finally figured out that you are, when you want to be.”
We're told that Escott goes blank for a second, and Jack fears his joke went flat, before Escott laughs. I think that sometimes in humor, veritas. I have vague memories of a later book that delves into Escott's own issues. And yeah, he CAN be a bastard when it's his own issues on the line.
They're interrupted by the arrival of police. Escott spots them quick enough to signal Jack to vanish, then the police ask Escott to come with them for questions. Jack does a mist-cling to one of the cops, as they drive to the station. The chapter ends with Jack catching a glimpse of the funeral parlor: all the lights are on. Uh oh.
The chapter ends here.
So the chapter starts off in that slightly incoherent, choppy style that demonstrates Jack's wavering consciousness.
Light.
A hand on my wrist.
Mitch, are they— My God, Elma, get back in the car. Fear in his voice.
Footsteps. A door slams shut.
The man keeps saying my God over and over again before he finally backs away and leaves.
His voice raises in a shout, then a curse.
The wet rush and roar as a car drives quickly past.
Rain.
Wind.
That kind of thing. It goes on for a while, and we witness, through Jack, the discovery of the bodies. (His own, and the cab driver, Banks.)
Jack's pretty much immobilized and when you're a vampire, that means that you're dead. Now what's really interesting is that it SOUNDS like it passes into daylight. The sun is out, and Jack's still partially aware. In agony, but partially aware. There had been mention that he'd been wrapped in a blanket, so that must be enough protection. But it's fascinating.
Eventually, he goes full out though, and wakes up to someone calling his name. Charles, of course. It takes a while for Jack to respond, but he does. Charles gets the story out of him and hands him a some blood and a tube to drink it with.
Charles really is a phenomenal boyfriend.
So they're at the local funeral parlor, which doubles as the coroner's examination room. Jack is rather more officially a dead body than usual. Oops. Charles will have to figure out a way to get Jack out of there, but they have some time to rest and get their bearings first. That's good, because Jack needs it. Apparently the coroner had to pull wood scrapings out of his skull. OW.
So eventually more alert, Jack and Charles touch base. Jack only managed to avoid an autopsy because Charles thought fast. I like this bit:
“I did. I said I had to notify your family first, and then I told them you were a Christian Scientist.”
My jaw dropped of its own accord, as it usually does when I don’t understand something. “Huh?”
“I said they were like orthodox Jews in that their religion absolutely forbade autopsies.”
“Does it?”
He suddenly smiled. “Actually, I haven’t the least idea, but it worked for the time being, and that’s all that matters.”
“Why didn’t you say I was an orthodox Jew?”
“I could not because you were out driving round after sunset on a Friday, the beginning of their Sabbath; something a practicing Jew would have avoided.” He offered me the shirt.
Charles is so clever. And actually, it occurs to me that my grandmother's family are Christian Scientists and I don't know what they think about autopsies either. I'd IMAGINE they're not on board. I should find out.
Anyway, Charles has brought clothes. He's still staying at the inn. In fact, he's been asked not to leave town. Apparently Escott is a suspect. Escott thinks that this happened because he fucked up and got too obvious when he questioned folks about the Franchers and the fire, and spooked someone.
One thing though, apparently he doesn't think that Barrett is guilty anymore. He'll explain why at the inn. So Jack uses mist form to sneak himself out of the examination room. Charles is packing up the blood supply: it's in a milk bottle. I never get tired of hearing the explanations as to how Charles does what he does. This one is great:
“I looked for and found a likely farm late this afternoon. If you were to recover—and I’m very glad you have—it seemed logical to provide for it. Blood appears to be the universal panacea for all your ills, and I wanted to be prepared.”
“Thanks.”
He shrugged it off, not one for gushing gratitude. It only embarrassed him.
“What’d you tell the farmer, that you were making blood sausage?”
“No, but that is a good suggestion. I said I was collecting blood samples from some of the area livestock.”
“Didn’t he think it kind of strange?”
“Yes, but fortunately the fellow was a Democrat, and that helped. I said I was a veterinarian working for the NRA and our branch of it was researching blood ailments in cattle. We needed samples for testing and offered monetary compensation for each pint collected.”
Hee.
Charles brushes off Jack's gratitude by pointing out that Jack bought him dinner the other night. He reclaims something else: a small packet of Jack's home soil that he'd snuck under the table when Jack wasn't looking.
Best boyfriend ever.
Anyway, they start heading back to the inn (the car was impounded as evidence), when Jack spots Emily Francher's Studebaker, Jonathan Barrett inside, heading to the funeral parlor. Jack's inclined to book it. But Barrett messes up that plan by then heading to the inn himself. He seems to be waiting for them. Escott, as mentioned, doesn't think Barrett's the culprit, but he doesn't think Jack's up for the confrontation.
This does leave Escott without his planned alibi, but Jack suggests that they get spotted in a watering hole instead. As they walk, they discuss Escott's blood-extraction ability. Apparently he manages his own squeamishness by pretending to be a vet.
So at the bar, they talk. Jack thinks the culprit had to be Barrett: he knew to use wood. He asks why Escott thinks Barrett's innocent: the blows weren't heavy enough. The killer had killed Banks well enough, but Jack is sturdier. Barrett would have known he was trying to murder a vampire though, and he would have compensated rather than leave Jack to survive.
Jack points out that an autopsy might well have finished the job. But Charles thinks that the killer was unaware of his condition. He explains the "official theory" of the murders: Banks picked up a fare, who made him stop, bashed his head in, robbed him, and Jack was the poor bystander who got attacked when the killer was still there.
Charles thinks the killer heard Jack and Banks speaking and thought he'd given Jack a clue. Escott thinks so too. He thinks the woman was real, and he thinks it's Laura Francher.
Jack had ruled out Laura in an earlier chapter because she was too tall. But she's nineteen. She would have been fourteen or fifteen back then. Banks had said something about change. Laura would have grown tall.
Jack's freaked out and frustrated, and Charles has some insight:
“I’ll tell you what happened: Maureen got in that cab, went to Port Jefferson, and then to parts unknown. We show up way too late, ask some questions, and then some creep just happens to kill Banks and nearly gets me. We’re trying to make this thing more complicated than it really is.”
He drank his drink, listening until I’d run down and was out of nonsense. “Do you wish to drop this and go home?”
“I don’t know… yes. I think so.”
He pushed the glass aside, got out his pipe, and spent some time lighting it. He puffed and played with the match stubs with an absent finger. “I see.”
But he didn’t, and I started up another protest, which he cut off with a raised hand.
“I see that you’re tired, upset, and frightened.”
I glared at him.
“You’ve had too much coming at you in too short a time. Just because your physical nature has drastically altered is no reason to think your emotional nature shares the same advantages.”
I mean, he's not wrong. And let's be honest here, Jack doesn't really have the best coping mechanisms for trauma. And so far, he's got a fucking lot of it. Anyway, Escott basically tells him that he understands Jack's feelings, but even if Jack goes home, Escott won't. Not yet.
...that's a bit of emotional blackmail dude. You may be losing some of your best boyfriend credit. Jack does NOT want to leave Escott to get murdered by Barrett. Jack gives in.
“You know if you stay you could get yourself killed. Barrett can do it without even trying.”
He nodded a little, his gray eyes yellow in this light. Of all people, he knew exactly what he was up against, and it still didn’t seem to bother him.
My breath exploded out in a sigh. “All right. I’ll admit I’m scared. I don’t like what we’re doing and what might come out of it, but we both know that only a real bastard would run out now, and I’m no bastard.”
He put down the pipe, maybe a little relieved after all.
“But,” I added, “I’ve finally figured out that you are, when you want to be.”
We're told that Escott goes blank for a second, and Jack fears his joke went flat, before Escott laughs. I think that sometimes in humor, veritas. I have vague memories of a later book that delves into Escott's own issues. And yeah, he CAN be a bastard when it's his own issues on the line.
They're interrupted by the arrival of police. Escott spots them quick enough to signal Jack to vanish, then the police ask Escott to come with them for questions. Jack does a mist-cling to one of the cops, as they drive to the station. The chapter ends with Jack catching a glimpse of the funeral parlor: all the lights are on. Uh oh.
The chapter ends here.