Topic: A New Life

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-03-14 18:48 EST
Flagstaff, Arizona
July 2009...

The sky had grown dark and ominous with an otherworldly blackness, when only a moment before the sun had been shining. I knew in my gut that it wasn't a storm, but a horde of demons the likes of which I hadn't seen in years. I knew I was over my head, so I did what any proper demon hunter would and tried to haul my butt out of there as fast as I could, but I was already too late.

The demon bitch was wearing the body of a redhead this time, probably a whore from the looks of her. I had never had much luck with redheads, not that it mattered. She was persistent, I'll give her that, but she wasn't going about it the right way at all. If she'd really wanted me, she should have asked if I'd be willing to trade my soul for Riley's. Sometimes demons aren't all that bright. That's probably how they end up becoming demons.

"Rhys, darling," she said, smiling seductively, "why must you make things so difficult?"

"Bite me," I retorted. Not exactly the most original or intelligent of replies, and certainly not something you'd say to a vampire, but it was the first thing that popped out of my mouth. I was seriously starting to tire of her games. I knew I had a couple of choices. I could either try and shoot my way out of there or make a run for it.

The problem with demons is that you can't really kill them. The best you can hope for is wounding the body it's wearing badly enough to render it useless, or if you have enough time, you can exorcise its ass back to hell, but at the time, dealing with an entire horde was way above my skill level.

As it happened, the choice was made for me.

The next thing I knew, the bitch had flung me across the room without barely lifting a finger. I was slammed against a wall and fell to the floor, dazed and confused. It seemed she was done playing games and finally meant business.

"What the hell do you want?" I managed to mumble. I already knew the answer to the question, but I thought I might buy myself a little time by asking. I knew I wasn't going anywhere until the room stopped spinning.

"Darling," she almost purred, "I've told you before. I just want you."

I blinked a few times to clear my vision and noticed two more demons had appeared, one on each side of her. The poor bastards whose meat they were wearing looked like bikers. Not the aging, flabby ones you always run into in bars who are trying to recapture their youth. These guys were big and mean-looking. They probably had rap sheets the length of War and Peace. I'd run into douchebags like them before. They were the kind of guys who would beat the crap out of you just for looking at them the wrong way and not bother to ask questions later.

She flicked a finger at them, and before I could react, one of them had yanked me off the floor and pinned me against the wall, a hand around my throat.

"I don't want to hurt you Rhys," I heard the bitch say, "but one way or another, you're coming with me."

"Like....hell....I....am," I managed to rasp, one slow word at a time. I could feel my throat closing, and the harder I tried to suck in a breath, the worse it hurt. Lights were starting to dance before my eyes, and I knew it wouldn't be long before I blacked out. It was act now or become the demon's bitch for all eternity.

I somehow managed to pull the .38 from my jeans, shove it into the demon's gut, and squeeze the trigger. I knew from the look on his face, he was as surprised as I was. He promptly let me go, suddenly more concerned with his own bleeding gut than with carrying out his mistress' orders.

I doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire. The other one lunged toward me and somehow I managed to squeeze off another shot and shove the wounded demon into the other two, giving me just enough time to stumble past them.

I didn't get very far before I felt her fling me across the room again, like a rag doll. This time, I crashed into a cabinet, glass shattering around me. I laid there dazed for a moment before the second demon came at me.

I don't know how I managed to keep my wits and stay conscious, but I squeezed off another shot, this one ripping into the guy's knee, giving me enough time to stumble to my feet and head for the door, but before I could get there, I heard another shot and felt a searing pain tear through my left shoulder. I looked up and saw a third demon standing in my way, a gun pointed in my general direction. If I wanted to escape, I'd have to get through him first. I was so close and yet so far.

"You're surrounded, Rhys, darling," I heard the demon bitch say behind me. "There's no escape."

I felt my shirt getting wet and sticky with blood, and I gritted my teeth against the pain.

"The Lycan bitch is as good as dead. You can't win, darling, so you might as well give up while you still can."

I felt anger rising at the mention of Riley, and despite my aching body, I felt more determined than ever. I turned to face her, my face flushing with hatred and rage. Too many people had died already; I wasn't going to let them add Riley's name to the list.

I called up the words than had been drilled into my head since boyhood. "Crux sancta sit mihi lux. Non draco sit mihi dux..." I watched with some sadistic sense of satisfaction, as she grimaced in pain. I knew it would take more than a few words of Latin to drive her and the horde back to hell, but at least, it might buy me enough time to make my escape.

I continued praying, turning back toward the door and gritting my teeth as I fired a fourth shot into the one demon who stood between myself and freedom. The bullet found its mark, blood blossoming on his chest. He went down in a heap, and I rushed past him into the eerie darkness that seemed more night than day.

Somehow, I managed to get to my car, but just as I was opening the door, I heard a howl and felt a shiver up my spine. Hell hounds. I'd talked to other hunters who'd encountered them, but I'd never seen any myself, and I wasn't sure if Dylan or David had either. According to legend, if you saw one three times, you were a goner. There was no way I was going to die that way. Not if I had anything to say about it.

I fumbled around for my keys with a shaking hand and managed to get the Mustang going, breathing a sigh of relief and muttering a prayer of gratitude to whatever God was listening. I squealed the tires and pulled out onto the road, heading in the direction of the monastery, hoping I could get there before the horde caught up with me.

The last thing I heard as I sped away was the sound of her laughter. I gunned the engine, pushing the gas pedal into the floor. Something shot out in front of the car. I'm not sure what it was. Just a shape. Demon, hell hound, I wasn't sure what. I swerved to avoid it and lost control of the car.  After that, everything went black, and when I woke up, I couldn't even remember my own name.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Flagstaff, Arizona
August 2009...

The constant steady beep of the cardiac monitor was the only sound that broke the silence and the only hint that the man who laid upon the hospital bed was still alive. Tubes and wires extended from his body helping him breath, monitoring his heart, pumping him full of saline and whatever drugs the doctors felt necessary in order to keep him alive. Morphine wasn't one of them. As far as they could tell, he was feeling no pain.

According to authorities, the car he'd been driving had smashed into a tree, totaling the car and severely injuring the driver. Blood tests had come back negative for drugs and alcohol, and it was assumed the driver had somehow lost control of the vehicle. Either that, or it had been a suicide attempt.

The car's trunk had been full of weapons — an assortment of blades and guns, none of which had been registered — along with several other strange items, including rock salt and silver ammunition. The plates on the car had been reported stolen several months previous, and the car had no valid registration or insurance.

The car and the accident were as much a mystery to police as the driver. Without a cell phone or any kind of valid identification, they could find nothing in the database that told them who the man might be. Even his fingerprints had come up negative. It was almost as if he didn't exist.

They dubbed him a John Doe and hoped he regained consciousness so questions could be answered, but the doctors were doubtful. Too much damage, they said. They doubted he'd live long enough to regain consciousness, much less answer any questions. Nothing short of a miracle could save him now, and there had been some discussion about disconnecting the machines that were keeping him alive.

No visitors came to see him, no family, no friends. Only the chaplain who would pray over the man and ask that God's will be done. Little did he know that God had nothing to do with it.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-03-14 19:05 EST
Two weeks passed and nothing changed. The man lay quiet and still, pale and drawn, as if waiting for death, but death didn't come. No reaper came to collect his soul, no demon to damn him to hell, no angel to save him. His life hung by a thread and hardly anyone noticed but those who tended him night and day and the woman who sat in silent vigil by his side. Invisible to mortal eyes unless she wished to be seen, she simply sat and watched and waited until she could wait no more.

The figure bathed in gold raiment appeared at her beckoning, just as she knew he would. Like her, he was invisible to mortals, unless he so chose to be seen.

"What is it you wish, Moirae?" the figure asked, shining brilliantly, hair as gold as sunlight, the most beautiful being she'd ever seen. Upon noticing the injured man, a faint frown tugged at his lips, a hint of sadness clouding eyes an unnatural shade of blue.

"Michael," she grimly acknowledged his arrival, not bothering to rise to her feet. He was the Prince of Angels, but she was a Goddess in her own right. She owed him no subservience or allegiance, though she deigned to show him the proper respect, as she expected from him in return. "Do you see what your meddling has done?" she accused.

The angel arched a brow in mild irritation. "My meddling" It's you who determined his fate, not I."

Her eyes flashed with anger at his insinuation, as if any of this had been her fault. "This is not how things were meant to be. You used him and then you abandoned him. Where were you when he needed you most' Watching from your high and lofty perch in heaven" Are you happy how things have turned out' Is this what you wanted, what you expected?"

"You forget about free will, Moirae. You should know better. Fate or no fate, he made his own choices. I cannot undo what has been done," the angel answered with cold indifference.

"But I can," she countered.

She had played her own part in directing the man's life, interfering in the war being waged between heaven and hell. His fate had been placed in her hands, and she had failed him. It was up to her now to save him, as she had once before.

"If you've already decided, what is it you want from me?" the angel asked.

"I want you to give him what he asked for. After everything that's happened, it's the least you can do."

"Death would be kinder," he pointed out.

"Who are you to decide that?" she retorted. "All he wanted was to know what it is to be human and to know what love is. Such a small request. And now look at him. Look what you and the others have done. He's broken. His heart is shattered. His soul is lost. How much more do you think he can take?"

"This is what it is to be human."

"You used him, Michael! You and the others. Like a pawn in a game of chess. He did everything you asked, and you gave him nothing in return. And now that he's broken and of no further use, you would discard him like a piece of trash."

"I will grant his request when he has finished his task."

"It's over, Michael. There are others who can take his place. Let him go."

"Why should I" The girl is gone. She's beyond my reach and yours. He can't have what he wants. Not anymore."

"Let it be finished. Wage your war without him. He's suffered enough."

"You should let me take him home then."

"He doesn't want that life anymore. Can't you see" He's not an angel anymore. He's had a taste of what it's like to be human. He's killed enough demons and saved enough souls. That should count for something."

"You would let him choose his own path' Free will over fate?"

"Yes," she replied in quiet defeat. "Only one task remains, and then my time is done. I will join my sisters and leave Earth forever."

"I cannot change what has already been done."

"Give him his freedom. That is all I ask. Let him live an ordinary life. Let him have a fresh start."

"He won't remember you. He won't remember anything."

She nodded her head in understanding and agreement. "That would be for the best."

"And if he tries to find out' If someone recognizes him?"

"It won't matter. The demons won't care if he's human."

The angel looked down at the broken body of the man who had once been like a brother. "I will miss him," he admitted sadly, displaying a rare show of emotion.

"If you love him, let him go. It's all he ever wanted."

"He will die someday," the angel continued. "Just like they all do. He is close to death now. They want him. They want to judge his soul and decide his fate. It is only our presence that is holding them back."

"He decided his own fate long ago when he asked to be human. He made his own choice, just as others have before him."

"It's against the rules," the angel pointed out.

"The rules have already been broken. He will not be happy in heaven. Isn't that how you lost Lucifer" Do you wish to lose Rhys, too?"

"No," Michael admitted. "I do not wish to lose another brother." He seemed to consider a moment and then the angel pressed two fingers against the man's forehead. He closed his eyes a moment and then opened them slowly, a hint of sorrow creeping into his clear blue eyes. "It is done. His soul is his own. He will have no memory of what has been. I will tell the others and assign a guardian."

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-03-14 19:58 EST
She thanked the angel quietly, but he was already gone, as if he'd never been there at all. It was up to her now.

She leaned close, looking into the injured man's face, a face that had become all too familiar. Whatever heart she had left was aching with sorrow. She had tried to help him, and it had all come undone, the web of his life unraveling even as she'd tried to hold it together. She brushed his hair back from his face, needing to touch him one last time.

"I'm sorry, Rhys," she told him softly, her voice as soft and gentle as a mother to her child. "It's not going to be easy, but I promise you the worst of it is over. I have to leave. You're never going to see me again, but there will be another to watch over you. You're mortal now, just like you always wanted. Your fate is your own. Your life is yours to live however you see fit. Make it count."

She brushed a kiss against his brow, tears filling her immortal eyes. She had dared to care and now, like Michael, she had to let him go. She would never see him again, and though he would never remember her, she would never forget him. There was nothing more to say. She rose to her feet and with one last lingering glance at him, she was gone.

The beeping on the heart monitor quickened, green eyes slowly fluttering open, blinking to try and clear his vision, the room coming slowly into focus. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was something caught in his throat. He tried to sit up, but found he lacked the strength. There was no pain, but he felt weak and weary, disoriented and confused. Where was he" What had happened" How had he gotten there" Try as he might, he could remember nothing. Not even his own name.

Hardly a minute had passed before someone took notice. A handful of nurses were suddenly fussing over him, checking his vitals, removing the tube from his throat, asking how he was, smiling down at him, and going on about miracles. What miracle" Was he the miracle? He didn't understand.

It wasn't until a few hours later that he finally understood what had happened. He'd been in a car crash, they said. It wasn't going to be easy. He'd have to work hard to regain his strength, but they were hopeful, optimistic. His memory, though, was a different matter. It was normal after all the trauma, but they could make no promises. It was a miracle he was alive. He should at least be thankful for that.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-03-14 20:06 EST
New York City Six Months Later...

Six months later found him living in a crappy little apartment in the heart of Brooklyn and working as a cook in a diner. He still couldn't remember anything of his previous life, and while other people might find it disconcerting, he found it something of a relief. Somehow, he wasn't sure he wanted to remember.

He'd learned his name was Rhys. It was a somewhat unusual name, but it could have been worse. Rhys Bristol, the authorities had seen fit to inform him after finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together. The name meant as little to him as the rest of his life story.

They'd questioned him back in Arizona, tried to hold him on charges, but nothing stuck. They couldn't prove anything other than petty crimes, and his lawyers insisted he couldn't be charged with anything he couldn't remember. He'd suffered enough, they'd said, and deserved another chance. They'd finally let him go with a warning to stay out of trouble, and the first thing he'd done was to buy a one-way bus ticket to New York. He wanted to get as far away from Arizona as he could, and for some reason, New York drew him like a magnet. It was easy to get lost there, and it felt strangely like home. It was understandable, he supposed, after having been told he'd spent his high school years there, though he didn't remember any of it.

He didn't even remember the gaggle of girls who liked to come into the diner and torment him with stories of things that seemed like they were from someone else's life, not his, and after a while, they'd stopped coming. Especially after he'd let his hair grow out, spiked it, and colored it. A few piercings and tattoos later and he'd been transformed from a handsome lady killer to a quiet and rebellious recluse. The new look seemed to keep the women at bay. They still gawked, but not for the same reasons as before. Let them judge him now.

He'd found he was fond of cars and liked to tinker with them a little. He had managed to dig up an old Chevelle and was slowly rebuilding her. Those who had taken the time to get to know him had wondered why he wasn't working in a garage, but he felt content for now to work at the diner. There was no pressure there, at least not until the lunch crowd arrived, and people mostly left him alone.

Life consisted mainly of working at the diner and working on his car. He'd managed to make a few friends, but mostly he kept to himself, content with his life, at least for now. Just happy to be alive. It was a lonely, but peaceful existence, but he sometimes wondered if there wasn't something more. Something he was missing. Some piece of the puzzle that hadn't worked itself out yet.

For now, he was too busy trying to rebuild his life and figure out who he was to worry much about it. Only time would tell if the past would come back to haunt him or if he could move past it and build a new life for himself. A fresh start. Like the phoenix, rising up from the ashes.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-04-24 11:13 EST
Flagstaff Medical Center Flagstaff, Arizona September 2009...

"Rhys, this is Agent Jameson. He has a few questions for you." The doctor offered a friendly, reassuring smile before turning to leave, but Rhys could see behind the smile, she looked worried.

He waited for her to leave and then turned his head to face a tall, balding, middle-aged man, a hospital pass clipped to his crisp blue suit.

"What's this about?" Rhys asked. "I've already given my statement to the police."

"Yes, well, I'm a little higher up on the food chain," the man said, flashing a badge that declared him F.B.I.

Rhys flicked a glance over the badge, doing his best to hide the nervous jitters he was suddenly feeling. What the hell did the F.B.I. want with him' He'd already told the cops everything he could remember, which was next to nothing. Car accident, that's all he really knew. "You Mulder or Scully?" he quipped. "I always get them confused."

"Cute," the agent replied, not looking amused in the least. "It's Jameson, smart ass."

Rhys shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever." He glanced nonchalantly at the clock on the wall. It was nearly noon. "Is this gonna take long because Days of Our Lives is on soon, and I wanna find out who's sleeping with who."

The remark earned Rhys a glare, as Agent Jameson stepped closer to the bed and grabbed the remote from his hands. "Look, I can make this simple or I can make it hard. It's up to you."

Rhys flashed a weak smile. "I'm a simple guy, Scully. The simpler the better. Ask away."

Jameson ignored the needling, confident the man wouldn't be needling him much longer. "I'm told you remember nothing about the accident."

"I've already been over this with..."

Jameson cut Rhys off, "Just answer the question."

Rhys blew out a slightly irritated breath. He had already told the police everything he knew and was getting tired of repeating himself. "All I remember is waking up in the hospital. That's all."

"How much have they told you?" Jameson asked.

Rhys frowned and shrugged. "All of it, I guess."

Jameson took a hard look at Rhys before continuing. "They tell you a trail of death and destruction seems to follow wherever you go?"

"What do you mean?" Rhys asked, brows furrowing in undisguised confusion.

"Father, mother, sister, friends, acquaintances, the list goes on. Everyone who gets near you seems to end up tragically dead. Doesn't that strike you as just a little bit strange?"

Rhys shrugged his shoulders again, trying to remain calm. It was more than strange, it was downright disturbing, but what was even more disturbing was the fact that he couldn't remember it. "I told you, I don't remember," he repeated. He titled his head to the side and rubbed at his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

Jameson didn't seem to notice or care. He paused a moment and then reached into his jacket and pulled out a photo of a tall, slender, dark-haired woman and held it out to Rhys. "She look familiar?"

Rhys narrowed his eyes as he looked at the picture. She was pretty, that much was certain, but she didn't look even vaguely familiar. He shook his head. "No, should she?"

"She's your fiancee," the agent explained. "She's missing."

"Fiancee?" Rhys shook his head in denial. "You must be mistaken."

"Her name's Riley O'Rourke," Jameson continued. "She's a defense attorney out of Tucson. Her family says you two had a falling out just before she disappeared. Any of that sound familiar?"

"No," Rhys replied, quietly. A fiancee" That was impossible. He'd remember if he had a fiancee, wouldn't he"

"Try," the agent insisted, impatiently.

"I have tried!" Rhys exclaimed in bitter anger and frustration. "I've been trying!"

The agent leaned over and held out another photograph, this time of a middle-aged Native American. "What about him?"

Rhys glanced at the photo and shook his head weakly, feeling suddenly exhausted, worn out.

Jameson noticed how pale and drawn the man had become and how his hands were shaking, a sign of either nervousness or guilt and pressed onward. "His name is David Sparrowhawk. He was found dead, along with two others, both killed by bullets fired from a gun that was found in your vehicle. Your fingerprints are all over the crime scene, Rhys. You were there."

"I didn't kill anyone," Rhys replied weakly, though he really wasn't sure of anything anymore, least of all his own sanity.

"If it was self-defense, I need you to tell me that."

Rhys closed his eyes, his head pounding painfully. "I don't remember."

"One way or another, I'm going to find out the truth, with or without your help."

"Is that a threat?" Rhys asked, prying his eyes open and glaring up at the man.

"It's a promise." The agent tossed the remote back into Rhys' lap and turned for the door, pausing a moment before stepping out. "I suggest you try to remember. Your life may depend on it."

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-04-24 11:16 EST
"Well, if it isn't Agent Mulder. Working an X-File, Fox?" Jameson snickered at his own joke as a tall, dark-haired man he recognized as a fellow agent exited the hospital elevator.

"Jameson," the man acknowledged, coldly. "Mind if I ask what you're doing here" Thought you were working a missing person's case in Tucson."

Jameson bristled. "I could ask you the same thing. Doesn't this case present a conflict of interest for you, seeing as one of the victims was your uncle and the main suspect is a friend?"

The other man ignored the insinuation. "Let's just say I'm here for moral support."

"Moral support. That's touching, Hawk." Jameson pounded his own chest with a fist. "Gets me right here."

"What are you doing here, Nate" Harassing an innocent man?"

Jameson snorted. "Innocent, my ass. Bristol's prints are all over the crime scene."

"You wanna tell me how Flagstaff Police missed that little detail" Not to mention the fact that there were A.P.B.s issued from here to Colorado looking for him and no one made the connection?"

Jameson shrugged. "They said it was a computer glitch or something."

The other agent huffed dubiously. "Right. Sounds like shoddy police work to me."

"You can't argue with the evidence, Hawk. He's gonna get arrested sooner or later. The guy's got a list of warrants a mile long."

"You looking at him for the missing person's case?"

"Let's just say I'm open to the possibility."

"Yeah' You wanna tell me why' He's been in the hospital since August, half of that time unconscious. You wanna tell me how he could have had anything to do with her disappearance?"

"You have a better explanation' Think she was abducted by aliens?" Jameson sneered.

Adam shrugged. "I've seen stranger things."

Jameson rolled his eyes in disgust. "You're living in a dream world, Hawk. It's amazing they even let you have a badge. You can't argue with the evidence. Bristol might not have anything to do with O'Rourke's disappearance, but I've got a pair of bodies killed by bullets that were fired from his gun."

"You've got two dead thugs Flagstaff is better off without and a suspect who was a close friend of my uncle's and more than likely was acting in self-defense."

"Either way, he was there and he knows something, and I'm gonna find out what."

"He doesn't remember."

"How convenient."

"You think he's faking it?"

"I think he remembers more than he lets on."

"He's suffered major head trauma. He may never remember."

"Bull shit. One way or another, I'm gonna find out what?s going on in that pretty little head of his."

"Oh, yeah?" Sparrowhawk took hold of the other man's jacket and shoved him up against the wall, dark eyes flashing a warning. "I'm only gonna tell you once, Nate. Rhys is family. My family. So, back the fuck off."

Jameson threw the other man off, looking more than a little irritated. He smoothed his lapel out and scowled. "Family or not, the guy's hiding something, and I'm gonna find out what."

"You do that, Nate. And make sure you give my sympathies to Miss O'Rourke's family. I'm sure they'll appreciate you barking up the wrong tree, while the trail for their loved one gets cold."

"At least, I'm not blaming aliens for her disappearance."

"Aliens had nothing to do with it," said Sparrowhawk. Demons were another matter, but he wasn't going to mention that to Jameson. "I suggest you get your ass back to Tucson because you're not gonna find any answers here."

"This isn't over," Jameson warned.

"It is for now." Sparrowhawk replied, shoving past Jameson and starting toward the nurse's station.

Jameson glared after the man, but finally relented, turning on a heel and pressing the button for the elevator. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't over until Bristol was behind bars where he belonged, and he wasn't going to rest until he made sure of it.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-04-24 11:30 EST
Brooklyn, NY March 2010...

"Excuse me. I'm looking for Rhys Bristol. I was told I could find him here."

The waitress looked up from the cash register drawer to find a pretty brunette standing in front of her with a hopeful look on her face. She looked the girl over, assuming she was probably another one of Rhys' ex-girlfriends or many admirers who came into the diner every now and then looking for him only to find he wasn't the same as they remembered. The waitress frowned, considering telling the brunette he wasn't there and saving her from the disappointment, but there was something about her that seemed different from the rest.

"Please," the brunette continued. "It's important. If he's not here, can I at least leave him a message?"

The waitress seemed to consider a moment and then glanced over at the kitchen, where a tall man stood with his back turned, scraping the grill. "Rhys!" she called. "You've got a visitor."

Rhys turned to face the pair, and the brunette audibly gasped, her face turning a shade paler than before. He furrowed his brows, glancing between the two women, looking either confused or annoyed. It wasn't the first time he'd received that reaction, and it was getting a little old. He wasn't the same Rhys everyone remembered. He'd changed, and they needed to get over it. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?" It was the usual response he gave when encountering people who thought they'd once known him.

"I'm-I'm Gina," the brunette stammered, looking as white as a ghost.

Rhys took a closer look at her, but there was nothing in the least bit familiar. There was no denying she was pretty, with long dark hair and soft brown, almost doe-like eyes, but there was something sad about her, something Rhys couldn't quite put his finger on, something different from the girls who'd come seeking him before. For some reason, he decided she deserved a chance and without taking his eyes off her, told the waitress, "I'm going on break."

"You already took your break," the waitress felt the need to point out.

"Yeah, well, there's no one here, so I'm taking another. Why don't you make yourself useful and pour the lady a cup of coffee?"

The waitress looked like she was about to argue, but suddenly relented. She had seen the look on the girl's face and didn't want to have to call 9-1-1 when she passed out on the floor. She merely nodded in silent agreement and went about pouring a cup of coffee and handing it to Rhys, who led the brunette over to a quiet corner booth, where they could talk in private.

He waited until the brunette had settled herself in the booth and then slid into the seat across from her, setting the coffee cup on the table in front of her, with a small, reassuring smile. "It's not the best coffee in the world, but it's drinkable."

The brunette wrapped her hands around the cup, grateful for its warmth, but only stared into its contents, as if she might find the answer to all her problems in its rich dark depths. "They told me you might not remember me," she muttered finally, looking up to find him studying her with grave green eyes that seemed to see into the very depths of her soul.

"I'm sorry. Gina, was it?" He frowned, and she detected a hint of sadness in his eyes. Sadness and maybe something else. Compassion' Remorse" Despair" "Were we..." he hesitated, breaking off. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what they might have been to each other. She was obviously shaken either by the change in his appearance or his lack of recognition. Either way, he felt like a stranger in his own body. Whatever or whoever it was she was looking for, it wasn't him. At least, not anymore.

Realizing where he was going with the question, Gina shook her head. No, they'd never been lovers. Not even close. "We were friends. Close friends." She reached toward him, as if to take his hand and then thought better of it, pulling back as if touching him might cause her physical pain. "You were....You were like a brother to me."

Rhys felt something twist inside him at her statement. Only once before had anyone told him something like that, and it had been back in Arizona. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried to escape his former life, it kept coming back to haunt him, whether he wanted it to or not. He shook his head sadly, his insides twisting into knots, a hard lump forming in his throat. "I-I don't..."

She took a deep breath as if to gather her courage and reached out finally to grasp hold of his hand, surprised to find he was shaking. "You don't remember anything?"

He shook his head. "There was an accident and..." He felt her squeeze his hand, as if trying to offer some comfort and reassurance with that small gesture. It was difficult to talk about the accident, difficult to put it all into words. Words seemed so meaningless, so futile. How could he possibly explain what he had been through, what he was feeling" Even if he could explain, he doubted anyone would ever really understand what it felt like to have your entire life torn from you, to wake up not even knowing your own name.

"I know. They told me."

"They?" He arched his brows, unsure who they might be.

"The authorities." She let go of his hand and wrapped it around her cup again, staring back into its dark depths as tears filled her eyes. She'd never been afraid to let him see her tears before, but he seemed different now. Everything was different. Nothing would ever be the same again. "Oh, Rhys..." she said finally, her voice breaking. She lifted her face to him again, and he saw tears glittering there, like tiny diamonds shining in eyes of caramel brown. "They told me about the accident. They told me you might not remember." She hesitated again, unsure how much to tell him, afraid she might trigger a memory better left forgotten. "I'm so sorry, Rhys."

"Sorry?" he echoed, looking confused. What did she have to be sorry for? It was him who should be apologizing. It seemed important to her that he remembered, but he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, the past was a blank. It had been more than six months since the accident, and he still felt like a stranger in his own body. He wasn't even sure who he was anymore. "I should be the one who's sorry."

She shook her head at him, denying him blame. "You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this was your fault. You..." she paused again, as if searching for the right words. "You were like a brother to me, Rhys. I loved you and..."

She seemed to be struggling, and he felt a wave of compassion and pity well up inside him. She seemed different from the others who'd come looking for him, hoping to find something or someone he no longer was.

She could no longer hold back the tears. There had been too much pain and too much sorrow. "I don't want to lose you," she whispered, the words strained and hard to hear, as if it gave her physical pain to say them, to acknowledge what she was feeling. She looked at him with hope in her eyes, or perhaps fear. Desperation, loneliness, pain, grief.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He could make no promises. They had told him he might never remember, and he'd come to accept the fact that the life he'd known before was over. In a way, he'd been given a second chance. A chance to make a new life. A chance to start over. There was a strange sort of freedom in that. There were no expectations, no debts to uphold, to promises to keep, and yet, she was looking to him as if she expected something from him, needed something from him, but what?

"I need time," he told her finally, not promising one way or another whether he could ever be what she wanted him to be, what she seemed to need him to be.

She nodded and smiled weakly. She wasn't sure what it was that she wanted from him, but they'd been close once and no matter what had happened, she wasn't ready to let him go. Not yet.

"Rhys!" a voice called, breaking the spell. "You gonna finish cleaning the grill or what? It's nearly five."

"Yeah, just give me a minute," he replied, glancing over at the counter with a frown. He looked back to find Gina sliding out of the booth and moving to her feet, and he followed her lead.

"Sorry," she said, smiling a little sheepishly. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

He waved a dismissive hand at her and offered a warm smile. "Don't worry about it. The grill's not going anywhere. Some people around here gotta learn a little patience," he purposely raised his voice, so that the waitress could hear him.

"Call me when you're ready," Gina told him, pressing a slip of paper into his hand. "No matter what you may think, you're not alone, Rhys. You're never alone." She brushed a kiss against his cheek and then she was gone, turning on a heel and moving toward the door.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-06-19 22:08 EST
The world burned and burned. Darkness and flame and searing heat. There was a woman - tall and slender with long, dark hair and smoldering dark eyes. He knew her, and yet, he didn't know her. She seemed to be calling his name, over and over, before disappearing with a scream into a burst of flames. And then, there was the sound of laughter - a woman's laughter. Raucous echoes of maniacal laughter. The kind of laughter that sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Eyes were peering at him from out of the darkness, yellow and feral and inhuman. Eyes that seemed to bore into his very soul. He heard dogs howling in the distance, growing closer, like he was being hunted. He ran and ran, lungs burning for air, flames licking at his feet, and then there was nothing but a darkness so thick and deep, he felt like he was suffocating. Cold and hot, ice and flame. The feel of something wet trickling down his forehead and into his eyes. He was drowning in darkness, a scream caught in his throat, and then he awoke.

Rhys' eyes flew open, and he bolted upright in bed. The morning sun was just rising, turning his crappy little bedroom in his crappy little apartment in the middle of Brooklyn golden. It was early summer, and a cool morning breeze stirred the curtains, but he shivered with cold, like it was the middle of winter.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Just a dream, only a dream. Just like the others he'd had before. Snatches of this, bits and pieces of that. None of it made much sense. Dreams or memories, he wasn't sure which, and he secretly wondered if he was slowly losing his mind.

Rhys pushed the blankets away and dropped his feet to the floor, drenched in sweat but shivering with cold. He threw a sweatshirt on and made his way to the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee, hands shaking, his stomach twisted in knots.

The dreams had been getting worse. His doctor had prescribed sleeping pills, but not even those had helped, and he dreaded going to sleep. He'd stay awake as long as he could, until he could keep his eyes open no longer, and then he'd collapse, exhausted, and surrender himself to sleep.

Where the dreams were coming from, he wasn't sure. His past was a mystery, even to himself, and one he had no desire to unravel, but if he couldn't put the dreams to rest, he was afraid he'd go mad.

Rhys took a lean against the counter, watching almost hypnotically as the coffee dripped into the pot. Somehow, it reminded him of blood, slowly dripping, drop by drop, as if someone was bleeding to death.

He shuddered involuntarily and shook himself out of his waking nightmare, suddenly feeling more alone than ever. He felt the tears coming, like they always did at times like these. Tears of frustration and futility. No matter how hard he tried to remember, he couldn't. He felt like only half a man. A man with no past and a questionable future.

The smell of brewed coffee drew him out of his thoughts, and he wiped the tears from his face and poured himself a cup, drinking it black, like he always had, though he couldn't remember it. He took a sip of the coffee, needing to clear the cobwebs from his head, and caught sight of his cell phone sitting on the counter where he'd left it, along with his wallet and keys.

He remembered the girl from the diner and reached for his phone, scrolling through the numbers to search for her name — Gina. "Call me when you're ready. You're not alone, Rhys," she'd told him. Ready for what? They'd already told him about his past, hadn't they' What else was there to know?

He glanced at the clock. Seven. Too early. No one in their right mind was up this early on the weekend. No one but him.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Wasn't that how the old saying went' In his case, he figured he had nothing left to lose.

He gulped down the coffee to steel his nerves and dialed her number.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-09-25 12:25 EST
Rhys stared into the cup of coffee Gina had poured him, as if he could find the answers to all of his problems there. She'd told him as much as she could, as much as she knew. She had warned him it might sound crazy, but somehow it was all starting to make sense. Demons, she'd said. He was a demon hunter. She had seen him hunt. She knew what he was.

Rhys Patrick Bristol, born in Mystic, Iowa, June 29, 1979, to Patrick and Claire Bristol. His parents had been murdered in some bizarre fashion when he was nine, and he'd been put into foster care, raised by a man named Dylan Donovan, until he, too, had been killed. After that, he'd come to New York, and by chance or fate, had met John and Gina. John's mother, Janet, had taken him in and treated him like one of her own. She'd made sure he finished school, and he and John had become like brothers, but Rhys hadn't stayed.

She wasn't sure what had happened to him after he'd left New York. She only knew what John had told her. Rhys had decided to go off and hunt alone, rather than put his loved ones in danger. He and John had kept in touch, and he'd called on John for help from time to time, but after Rhys had left, John had grown concerned for Gina's safety and, like Rhys, had pulled away.

It was only a few years ago that the three of them had been reunited, and it was mostly because of Riley. She wasn't clear about the details, but Rhys had met Riley during a hunt and the two of them had fallen in love. Rhys had brought Riley to New York to meet John, and the four of them had gone to Coney Island for the day. That's when things had started falling apart. John had proposed, but before they'd had any time to celebrate, Riley had been captured by fae, and Rhys and John had gone after her.

The two of them had been successful, but things were never the same after that. Rhys started having nightmares, and Riley left for Tucson, unable to cope with her own trauma, much less his. John was afraid the demons were winning, trying to pit them against each other. They were stronger together than apart, he'd said, but it was too late.

Rhys left, determined to win Riley back. Terrified of flying, he planned to drive from New York to Tucson and should have arrived in a matter of days, but dropped off the radar when his car crashed outside Flagstaff. So close and yet, so far. Riley was attacked by demons and Lycans and nearly killed, losing the child she was carrying inside her, the child Rhys didn't even know about, and John's plane crashed while on his way to Tucson to see her.

The demons had put the final nails in the coffin.

Rhys had finally turned up in a hospital, unable to remember anything about his past, not even his own name. Janet and Gina went about the business of grieving John's loss and putting his affairs in order. Riley disappeared without a trace, but for a brief farewell, and Gina didn't know where'd she'd gone. She'd mentioned portals and some place called Rhydin, but Gina didn't know where that was and neither did Rhys.

Gina's story, as unbelievable as it was, begged more questions than it had answered. Rhys cordially thanked her for her time and apologized that he couldn't remember her. He wondered how many apologies it would take before he'd feel forgiven. So many lives had been destroyed because of him, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

He'd been happy for a while to live in ignorance, but he knew that sooner or later, everyone's past catches up with them. He knew what he had to do next. It was time to dig into his own past and solve the mystery of his own life. It was time to put the pieces of the puzzle together, and he knew where he had to start. He had to start where it had all began. In Mystic. It was time for Rhys to go home.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-09-25 16:41 EST
Highland Cemetery Mystic, Iowa May 2010...

"I thought I might find you here," a familiar voice drew Rhys out of his thoughts, and he turned to find a tall, handsome man of Native American descent watching him with a critical eye.

Rhys scowled in annoyance and turned back to the pair of graves with the shared tombstone. The names engraved in granite were that of Claire and Patrick Bristol, his parents.

"Are you following me?" Rhys asked, hands shoved in the pockets of an old Army jacket. It was spring, but there was a chill in the air and the threat of rainclouds overhead.

"Not officially," the other man replied.

"You taking the place of my probation officer?" Rhys asked, sarcastically. Despite being cleared of the murder charges, the accusations made against him had left him bitter, and he'd been put on probation for one year with a warning that if he got so much as a parking ticket, he'd find himself back in jail so fast it would make his head spin.

"I'm here as a friend," the man said.

"Right, a friend," Rhys repeated, doubtfully. "A friend who just happens to be a cop."

"I'm not a cop. I'm F.B.I. There's a difference."

"A cop by any other name..." Rhys started.

"You may have lost your memory, but you're still a smart ass."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"In your case, it is."

"What do you want, Adam?" Rhys asked, turning the collar of his jacket up as it started to drizzle.

"I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here, Rhys" Digging up ghosts of the past' Ghosts are better left alone. Trust me."

"Trying to figure it all out," Rhys answered after a moment.

"I thought you didn't want to know," Adam pointed out.

"Yeah, well, maybe I changed my mind."

"Do you remember anything?"

Rhys shook his head, frowning. "No, but I keep having these nightmares, and I'm not sure if they're dreams or memories."

"Like what?"

"It's gonna sound weird."

"Believe me, man, I've heard it all."

Rhys shrugged his shoulders. "Stuff about demons and angels and the end of the world."

Adam chuckled mirthlessly. "You call that weird" That's all in a day's work."

"It's not funny."

"Yeah, I know, but..." the man flicked his dark eyes at the tombstone, thinking. He knew the time would come when Rhys would want to know the truth of his own past, but how did you prepare someone for that' Especially, when the past was as bizarre as his was. "You wanna go for coffee" Or would you rather get wet?"

Rhys looked up at the sky, as if just now noticing it was starting to rain. "In every life, a little rain must fall," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"What?" Adam asked, not quite catching the remark.

"Nothing," Rhys turned away from the graves to face the other man. Rain was tears falling from heaven. Where had he heard that before? He couldn't remember. "Coffee sounds good. There's a place down the street. I'll meet you there in a bit. There's something I have to do first."

The other man nodded his head and started away from the cemetery back toward his car, turning back once to point a finger at Rhys. "If you're not there in an hour, I'm gonna come looking."

Rhys smirked a little at the other man's remark. If nothing else, he was persistent. He waved him on and watched as the Dodge pulled out of the parking lot and drove away.

Rhys turned back to the graves, the smile disappearing. He couldn't say he loved someone he didn't remember, but he still felt a deep sense of loss, like an aching hole in his heart.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you," he started. "I wish I did. I know I can't bring you back, but I promise I'm gonna do everything I can to find out the truth. I need to find out the truth. I need to know what happened. I need to know who I am."

He took a step back from the graves and lifted his face to the sky, cold rain washing hot tears from his face. Human tears, mortal tears mingling with those from heaven. He stood there for a few minutes, letting the rain wash away his grief, before turning his back on his parents' graves and making his way from the cemetery. There was nothing more he could do for them now. It was time to move on.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-09-25 23:24 EST
A bell jingled overhead as Rhys pulled open the door to the coffee shop announcing his arrival. Heads turned his way, and he couldn't help but notice the various expressions on their faces — surprise, shock, dismay, amusement, indifference.

He'd thought he'd grown used to the stares and snickers and jeers he usually received from strangers, but the truth was, he hadn't. In New York, no one cared, but here in Iowa, green mohawks, facials piercings, and tattoos were not the norm.

He smiled politely, nodded a greeting, and continued on toward the booth where Adam was waiting. He felt eyes boring into his back and overheard a few muffled comments, but he did his best to ignore them as he took a seat across from the man.

Adam waved a hand at the waitress. "Another cup of coffee for my friend, please," he called over to her before turning to Rhys.

"You'd think they never saw green hair before," Rhys remarked quietly as he settled himself in the booth.

"You could blend a little better. Be a little less conspicuous. If you're trying not to attract attention, you're having the opposite effect."

Rhys scowled and wiped the rain from his face. "It keeps the women away."

Adam arched a brow in surprise. "Since when do you want that?"

"Since New York. They're like predators. They come out in swarms, I swear."

Adam snickered. "Well, that's new. I've never known you to be afraid of women. Just the opposite, in fact."

"I'm not afraid. I just want to be left alone, okay?" Rhys flashed a brief smile of thanks to the waitress who was giving him the once over. "Not you....I mean....never mind." He sighed.

The waitress refilled Adam's coffee cup and left the pair to talk in private, a final fleeting and curious glance at Rhys.

Rhys sipped his coffee and looked over at the other man to find him smirking. "What are you smiling at?"

"You. How long have we known each other?"

"Hell if I know. Memory isn't what it used to be, remember?"

"Funny. Still the smart ass." Adam took a swallow of his coffee before setting the cup down and folding his arms on the table to take a lean toward his companion. "Twenty years, give or take. That's a long time to know someone."

"If you say so, Agent....What did you say your last name was?"

"Sparrowhawk."

"What the hell kind of name is that?"

"It's Navajo. And if I gave it to you in my native tongue, you wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

"Try me."

"Another time. I didn't come here to talk about me. I came here to talk about you."

"What about me?"

"You want to know about your past, right' That's why you came here, isn't it?"

Rhys nodded and watched as Adam pulled a worn leather-bound book from his jacket and handed it to him. "You kept a journal. Took of bit of doing, but I managed to get my hands on it after the accident. Everything's there. Well, most everything."

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-09-26 01:39 EST
Rhys glanced at the leather-bound journal he held in his hands. "What do you mean everything?" he asked, brushing a thumb against the worn leather cover, which seemed strangely familiar somehow.

"Your past. It's all there. Most of it anyway. It's a little choppy, at times. I'm toward the beginning. Right after the stuff about Dylan."

"Dylan?"

"Your foster father. We've been over this, Rhys."

"Yeah, I know. I just wish I remembered. I'm trying to put the pieces together. I know what they told me, what you told me, but it doesn't make sense. There's something missing."

Adam leaned back in the chair and studied the other man, wondering how much he was ready to know. He'd known Rhys since he was a boy, and he knew things about him that no one else knew, things even Rhys didn't know or remember. Things that hadn't made sense twenty years ago and still didn't make sense. He'd been over it a thousand times in his head, and he still couldn't figure it all out.

Rhys was right about one thing. There was a piece of the puzzle that was missing, and that piece was Riley. She had answers no one else had, but Adam had failed in his attempts to locate her, and the questions had remained unanswered.

"Just read the journal," said Adam.

Rhys glanced at the journal again, as if almost afraid to open it's leather-bound pages, afraid what he might find there.

"You got a place to stay?" Adam asked, draining his coffee.

"Yeah. I've got a room in town."

"Need money?"

Rhys glared at him. "You my mother now?"

"Look..." Adam leaned forward again. "You may not remember me, but I remember you. We're family. We look out for each other. So, if you wanna think of me as a stranger, go ahead, but don't expect me to do the same."

Rhys seemed to consider that a moment. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember the man. He hadn't remembered Gina either or Riley. Their faces had seemed vaguely familiar, but that was all. The rest was a blur.

"I'm good, for now," he told the other man. Whether he was or not was debatable, but he had his pride.

"Okay," Adam replied and moved to his feet. "Your assignment, should you wish to accept it, is to read that journal." He tapped a finger against the journal as if to reinforce his point.

Rhys scowled both at the man's attempt at humor and his so-called assignment. "Why don't you just give me the abridged version?"

"Because it'll mean more coming from you. That's your journal; those are your words. You can't argue with yourself, Rhys."

Rhys glared at the journal like it was a dreaded high school English assignment, though he'd long been out of high school. Though he wanted to know the truth about his past, he was afraid what he might find there.

Adam laid a reassuring hand on Rhys' shoulder. "Call me when you're finished."

"Where are you going?"

"There's something I have to take care of." Adam smiled down at his old friend. "Read....and try to look a little less conspicuous. It's Iowa, not New York."

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-09-26 15:14 EST
Rhys stared at the leather-bound volume for a long while before finally flipping it open. There was no denying that the words were written in his hand, though what he found there seemed too unbelievable to be true.

My life started out ordinarily enough. I was born to an ordinary middle class family in an ordinary middle class town. It could have been Anywhere, USA, but it happened to be Iowa.

His eyes moved down the page, taking in every word, his stomach clenched in knots. He'd been told that he'd killed his own father in self defense. If anyone had told him the real reason why, he'd have called them crazy, but there it was written in his own handwriting and in his own words.

My life was never the same after that. I had killed my first demon, but as far as the rest of the world was concerned, I had just murdered my own father.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, looking up from the pages. He had a sick feeling in his stomach, like he'd just been punched in the gut. Demons" What the hell. That can't be right.

"Are you okay?" a woman's voice asked, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find the waitress standing beside him, holding a fresh pot of coffee and looking a little concerned.

Rhys swallowed a breath and forced a smile, though he felt like he was going to be sick. "I'm fine. I'm good."

"You don't look so good," she said dubiously.

"No, I'm....I'm okay. Really. Thanks for asking." He flashed another fake smile to try and convince her or maybe to convince himself.

She studied him a moment, still looking doubtful. "More coffee?"

He pushed the cup toward her. "Please."

"You're not from around here."

"No. Well, not anymore."

"You here on business or pleasure?"

Now, there was a question. "Neither really. Just....visiting."

"That would be pleasure, unless it's someone you don't really want to see."

"Family," he replied, leaving it at that. It wasn't exactly untrue. He'd just visited his parents, in a manner of speaking.

She smiled. "Oh, yeah, family can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family."

"Yeah," he said quietly. He had neither really, except for Adam. He felt like a man with no past and a questionable future. "I guess."

"Can I get you something?" she inquired. "Sandwich, pie, something?"

He looked over at the counter, where the baked goods were kept behind glass to tempt the customers' palates, and his stomach growled of its own accord. When was the last time he'd eaten" Last night on the road, he thought. A sloppy burger in some greasy spoon along the way. "No, I'm okay."

"Come on. I just heard your stomach growl. Let me get you a sandwich or something. Best BLTs around. Scout's honor." She smiled and lifted three fingers in the air to make the Scout sign, and he found himself smiling.

He looked up at her, as if noticing her for the first time. She was young and pretty, with strawberry blond hair and blue eyes, a friendly smile, and a slender figure.

"Okay, you talked me into it, but only if it comes with a piece of pie."

"Best pie in the county," she said with a smile. "I'd recommend the blueberry."

"Blueberry, it is," he agreed, a photograph slipping from inside the journal as he set it down on the table. He reached for the photo, his heart freezing as he noticed it was a picture of himself and Riley taken in what must have been happier days. The two of them were smiling, arms wrapped around each other and looking like they were in love. He studied the photo for a moment, trying to stir some memory, some small scrap of recognition, but nothing came to mind. He remembered the last time he'd seen her she'd looked sad. He hadn't really understood that sadness, until now.

"Girlfriend?" the waitress asked, unable to not notice the photo.

"Ex-girlfriend," he replied, staring at the two smiling faces that looked back at him, almost as if to mock him. Had they ever been that happy' He couldn't remember.

"She's pretty," the waitress said as she leaned over to take a closer look, and Rhys caught a whiff of her perfume. She smelled like coffee and breakfast and just a hint of vanilla. Her scent stirred something inside him, some memory, but try as he might, he couldn't quite place it.

"Yeah, she is," he replied distractedly and carefully tucked the photo back into pages of the journal.

"That your car?" she asked abruptly, nodding at the window.

He turned to glance out the window at the dark blue '68 Chevelle that was sitting in the parking lot. "Yeah, it's mine. How'd you know?"

She smiled, as if she knew something he didn't. "Only car left that doesn't belong to someone who works here."

He blinked and took a look around, realizing that for the time being, he was the only customer left. Everyone else had cleared out. "Oh."

"It's a sweet car. Did you rebuild it yourself?"

"Yeah." He'd learned through sheer luck that cars were one thing he was good at. He wasn't too sure about women.

"Give me a ride later?"

He arched a curious brow up at her. "A ride?"

"Yeah, I could use a ride home. I get off in an hour. Unless you've got other plans."

"I don't have other plans." Except for reading the story of his own sorry life in his own sorry journal.

She smiled. "Awesome! My name's Ashley."

"I'm Rhys."

"Reese like Witherspoon?"

"Rhys like Davies."

She laughed. "Touche." She set the coffee pot down and reached toward his hair, frowning as he instinctively flinched away from her touch. "It's okay. I don't bite. Your hawk is just drooping a little."

"Oh," he said and lifted a hand to fix his hair. "Must have been the rain."

"Yeah," she eyed him curiously a moment and then refilled his cup. "Okay, Rhys like Davies. I guess I've talked your ear off enough. I'll leave you in peace and go get your sandwich." She smiled again, as if trying to reassure him that she meant no harm.

He smiled back and watched her depart, pleasantly surprised at the prospect of companionship after being alone for so long, even if it was just a ride in his car. He hadn't realized until that very moment how lonely his life had become. He watched her a moment and then turned his attention back to the task before him, opening the journal again and moving on to the next entry.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-09-26 18:08 EST
"So, what?s that all about?" the waitress whose name apparently was Ashley asked as she settled into the passenger seat of the Chevelle and buckled herself in.

"What's what all about?" Rhys asked, arching a curious brow at her as he fastened his own seat belt.

"The hair and stuff," she said, waving a hand at his head. "You don't seem like the punk rocker type to me."

He shrugged his shoulders and threw the car into drive, either ignoring or avoiding her question. "Where'd you say you lived?"

"I didn't." She smiled. "I've got an apartment in town."

He pulled the car out onto the road, heading toward Mystic. He didn't really remember the area, but driving seemed to come natural, and he had an almost uncanny sense of direction.

"So, are you a rebel" Trying to make a statement' Let me guess. Leave me alone" Don't judge a book by its cover" Screw the world?"

"Something like that," he replied shortly, tired of always answering people's questions. Why couldn't they just leave him alone" What he really wanted was some answers.

"You seem nice enough. What made you decide to say screw the world?"

He frowned a little to himself, realizing it didn't matter whether he hid beneath a mohawk or not. People were naturally curious and they were going to ask questions, no matter what he looked like. He shrugged his shoulders again. He really had no answer to that, at least, none that he was willing to share.

"Got a raw deal, huh' I can relate. Life sucks and then you die." She was no longer smiling.

He gave her a cursory glance before looking back at the road. "Life is precious. Don't waste it."

"Pretty philosophical for a guy with green hair."

"Yeah, well....Let's just say I've learned from experience."

"Fair enough."

Rhys glanced out the rear view mirror and frowned.

"What is it?" she asked, noticing the worried expression on his face.

"The car behind us....They've been following us for a while."

"So' It's the main road leading into town. Everyone takes this road."

He seemed to consider that a moment and then he was turning down the next left that they came to.

"Hey! This isn't the right way!" she exclaimed, looking behind them.

"Humor me," he told her.

"Stop the car and turn around!"

"Not yet," he said, watching in the mirror as the black Buick continued to follow.

He heard her gasp in surprise as the Buick turned down the same road. "You really think they're following us?"

"What's down this road?" he asked, ignoring her question, which seemed to have an obvious answer.

"Nothing. Just some farms."

"You know anyone?"

"Yeah." She turned back around and pointed at a white farmhouse that was set off away from the road. "There. That house belongs to the Wilsons."

He glanced to where she was pointing and pulled the car into the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

"What's going on, Rhys" You're scaring me," she said, looking a little too pale. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"I don't know." He watched as the Buick approached and then slowly passed and headed on down the road. He couldn't make out the driver behind the tinted windows, but he had made a mental note of the make, model, and license plate number. "Get inside before they come back," he instructed, unlocking her seat belt and reaching across her lap to push the passenger door open.

"What about you?" she asked, looking scared.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

She leaned over and laid a hand against his cheek. "Be safe, okay?" And before he could reply, she was pressing a kiss against his lips.

He returned her kiss, more than a little surprised by it, and then she was gone, hurrying away from the car toward the farmhouse.

Rhys waited until she was safely inside the building and then he backed out of the driveway and headed back toward the main road. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but something in his gut told him he wasn't. Once onto the main road, he gunned the engine, tires squealing in protest, and headed in the opposite direction of Mystic, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his home town as he could as quickly as possible.

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2010-09-26 18:45 EST
"What the hell is going on?" Rhys practically shouted into the cell phone he had held up to an ear, the other hand on the steering wheel.

"Are you sure you're being followed?" Adam asked on the other end of the cell phone.

"What do you mean am I sure" Yes, I'm sure!"

"You get the make and model?"

"Yes, I got the make and model. Black Buick Century. Looked like 07 or 08. Out of state plates. Indiana maybe. KLN something or other. I couldn't catch it all."

"Indiana. You're sure?"

"No, I'm not sure!"

"All right. Listen, just calm down, okay?"

"I am calm!"

"They're not following you now, are they?"

Rhys flicked a glance out the back mirror. "No, I think I lost them."

"Okay, good. Where are you?"

"Outside of Mystic. I'm not going back there."

"No, don't. If someone's been watching, that's the first place they'll look."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Head East. Toward PA."

"That's where I was going."

"Chances are they don't know that."

"They. Who the fuck are they?"

"I don't know, Rhys." Adam was quiet a moment. "Look, there's a bar outside Chicago. Hunters hang out there. I know someone."

"Who?"

"Hunter named Duncan."

"Duncan, okay. What's the name of the place and how do I find it?"

"The Sunset Grill. It's in Riverside."

"What about you?" Rhys asked.

"What about me?" Adam replied.

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna look into some things. Call me when you get to Chicago."

Rhys opened his mouth to argue, but Adam had already hung up. "Son of a bitch," he muttered and tossed his cell phone on the passenger seat. Things were just getting better and better.

(Continued in "A Call For Help".)