The Ripper

William Jack Holloway

It was so incredibly easy to forget his instincts as he stared at the vampiric man that stood before him. His instincts that told him to kill, to take out every last one of the species that had stolen his life away, that had stolen the lives of Sebastian and John as well. He couldn't change the past, couldn't even harm the one person that he wanted to slaughter - not that he hadn't tried to find her over the years. And here he was in a darkened alleyway with his silver dagger against the throat of one of those very creatures, and he couldn't bring himself to drive the blade home and stop the madness. He knew it was merely a façade. He knew that this was just a monster wearing the face of the one person that William had loved more than anyone else in the entire world. And yet he couldn't - wouldn't - murder someone with that face. Even if it wasn't Sebastian. And it couldn't be Sebastian, not the real one. He wanted so desperately to believe it. So desperately that for a few precious seconds he tilted his face into the loving touch of the vampire's fingertips. How many times had the real Sebastian touched him like that? How many times had Will responded in much the same way?

It was that on his mind as he pulled so abruptly back from the creature in front of him, the dagger clattering to the ground as he did so. The Hunter made no movement to pick up the fallen weapon, nor did he reach for the remaining dagger that existed within that leather jacket of his. Instead all he could do was stare at him incredulously, the words that he was dead had falling from his disbelieving lips. He was so well aware of the words that fell from the vampire's lips and the way that he touched the burned skin on his knife. He winced instinctively at the notion that he had possibly harmed Sebastian. But this was not Sebastian. This was just a monster wearing his face. But he certainly sounded like Sebastian. He acted like him, too. Especially with the look on his face and the stunned sound of his voice at the notion that William had tried to kill him. But of course he had. He was a vampire, and Will was a Hunter. This wasn't Sebastian, and yet Will certainly felt the sting of pain and guilt from harming him.

Will's brown eyes lifted immediately as the vampire spoke, insisting that his William had been dead when he awoke. How dare this vampire act as though he wasn't... when he was the one wearing the face of his best friend. "What I'm trying to achieve?" William replied, his voice full of the shock and outrage he felt at the moment. "You're the one wearing the face of the only person... the only person that ever mattered to me, and you say that I'm tricking you?" Will's voice was certainly full of hurt, the cold demeanor that he'd learned to apply to vampires having entirely faltered into the twenty-five year old Englishman that had died that day with his best friend. "You're a..." How was he intending to finish that sentence? Monster? Demon? It was all true for the vampire that stood before him, and yet Will found he could say no unkind word to him.

Will stepped back instinctively as the vampire called his power to himself, his eyes wide as he watched the crimson string appear out of nowhere. He had seen so many vampires and so many different powers, but this was a new one. It was clear that the vampire intended to harm him, and for the first time, Will had no fight left within him. He would not fight this vampire. He would not live the rest of whatever life he had left knowing that he had spilled the blood of his best friend, even if it wasn't really Sebastian at all. He wouldn't - he couldn't - live like that. So instead, the Dark Hunter simply reached inside his jacket and retrieved his only other weapon. It was a simple silver dagger that he'd had on him the day he died. A gift from his father, one with the Cavendish family crest on the hilt of the weapon.

There was some hope within the boy that the monster in front of him could be the Sebastian he'd been so in love with back when he was that naive human in the streets of London. It was unlikely, and he knew that, that the vampire would recognize the blade that he'd been so proud of. The day he's gotten that stupid blade he'd ran straight to Sebastian to show it off as though it had mattered somehow. It seemed stupid now, and yet it had been the one piece of his human life that he couldn't give up. He'd shed everything else, including the family name that had once so defined his whole being. But for now, he merely took his precious dagger and tossed it forward at the vampire's feet.

"Just kill me," William said, his voice entirely strained. "Because I can't murder the face of my best friend."

But darling -- it's only human nature.