Santi landed flat on her stomach, the fluids accompanying her expulsion cushioning her landing somewhat but not entirely.  Still almost suffocated from the lack of air inside Tim's body, hitting the wooden floor tits-first did nothing to make breathing easier.<br/><br/>It took her several seconds before she could even bring herself to flop over onto her back, and even when she did so her movements, particularly in her legs as she tried to push herself upright against the wall, were jerky, like her limbs were made of rubber.  Much as she wanted to think it was from the lack of air, she knew better.  Her body was still tingling, her muscles still in a state of post-orgasmic weakness.  No matter how terrified she had been at the end, her body had enjoyed the adventure way too much...<br/><br/>When she finally focused on the rest of the room, however, her body went rigid and her stomach went cold.  All kinds of horrible, horrible things met her eyes.  She had expected to find Tim and Shari looming over her, ready to play with her body some more before finishing her off... but instead Shari was jerking, dying on the floor nearby, a hole in her chest oozing blood.  Blood Santi had been lying in on her stomach.  Tim was leaning over the dying woman, Santi forgotten entirely, his expression as cute as ever and yet terrified now.  And standing nearby was that man... the same man as from that morning.  The one that had made the world turn upside down, and had made the alleyway look endless.  Holding a smoking, silenced gun.  A weapon that, despite what she had just endured, was somehow more terrifying to Santi than Tim was.<br/><br/>Until her eyes caught sight of his shoulder, at least.  Then everything changed.  The day had taken turns for the wierd already, but now they were taking a turn for the wierder... and more nightmarish.  For on Tim's shoulder, somewhat faded but still legible, was a tattoo... a tattoo of a snake eating its own tail, surrounding a number, 119.<br/><br/>It was nothing, really.  A detail.  Someone's choice of body art that happened to closely resemble someone else's.  That was it.  That had to be it... but something told her otherwise.  Somehow she and Tim were connected... for in the small of her back, identical to Tim's other than the number, Santi had a tattoo of her own.  A snake eating itself... surrounding the number 238.<br/><br/>For a few seconds she stared at Tim in rising terror.  However she grew aware of the man in the coat kneeling next to her... telling her she had... little time... to<span style="font-style: italic">shower?</span>Telling her he would get her clothes... telling her she was going with him, as was Tim...<br/><br/>She focused on him a bit more.  She remembered him doing...<span style="font-style: italic">something</span>to her, earlier.  She saw him pull out the gun again, to finish Shari off, saw Tim dive over her body protectively, uselessly.<br/><br/>This man... he wanted Santi to go with him.  Wanted Tim to go with him.  Wanted... two people... that had those tattoos.  Two people that had...<span style="font-style: italic">belonged... to... them...</span><br/><br/>"You're... you're one of them," she whispered, eyes wide, the terror of those years she couldn't remember but could always<span style="font-style: italic">feel</span>rising within her.  She looked over at Tim again, seeing him in a whole new light, a horrible light.  The boy was insane, tearing open his own thumb with his teeth in his terror and loss, spraying Shari's wound with his blood...<br/><br/>Her eyes blinked again, once, twice.  His thumb.  His thumb was... it was regrowing as fast as he could tear it open.  He was healing, healing faster than anything.  Like Santi did, only much faster... or maybe he just knew himself better than she did.  But... why?  Why was he...<br/><br/>He begged... begged for help.  To save the life of a murderer.  Even now Santi couldn't see him as the killer of the couple.  He just needed to feed.  But Shari, Shari had enjoyed watching, helping.  But evil as she was, to Tim she was... something.  Someone.  Family... family.  He was panicking over losing her... panicking so badly that he was ripping open his body, pouring his blood on her...<span style="font-style: italic">into</span>her...<br/><br/>"Can... can our... blood... help?"  Santi whispered as the strangest thought penetrated her confused mind.  If he was like her, and she like him... she caught herself almost moving toward the fallen, dying woman.  Somehow, someway, she almost saw Tim as a kindred spirit.  One without a conscience, but still.  She could almost see him as a victim, like she was... to<span style="font-style: italic">them.</span>She looked over at the man again, frowning, frightened.<br/><br/>"You're one of<span style="font-style: italic">Them,</span>" she whispered, as if that said it all.  "Why would I go with you?!"  She looked back at Tim.  "You<span style="font-style: italic">ate</span>me!  You were going to<span style="font-style: italic">digest</span>me without a second<span style="font-style: italic">thought!</span>And she<span style="font-style: italic">helped!</span>Why would I help you, or<span style="font-style: italic">her?!</span>"  Her tone was frantic, terrified, confused, almost childlike.  The child she had been the day everything had changed, many years ago.<br/><br/>She slid along the wall, away from either of them, and while she ended up with her blood-soaked one-piece suit in one hand --- because she happened to go over it on the bloody floor --- her nudity was the farthest thing from her mind right now.  "Why would I help<span style="font-style: italic">any</span>of you?!"