stuntie_jed

Jed pulled up to the gates at Weta tentatively, yet hopefully. It had been several weeks since he'd gained the new occupant in his skull, and he'd yet to feel the deep interior cold that the Wraith brought with him. The Rohirrim had finally conceded that he was safe and let him out of the warehouse.

( He felt lost again, )

Another Saturday morning, another day of hell. Jed didn't understand how Pete could expect him to exist. He was afraid to leave his house, afraid to go to Weta, where Pete had told him the things Richard had made had taken their own fucking life. He was afraid to sleep, afraid to relax for fear that the beast within him would get free.

He couldn't eat, hadn't since he saw the papers New years, but he was trying for a bit of normal, making his favorite brekkie, bangers and mash. But the smell of them made him chunder and he threw the pan and contents into the rubbish.

Wandering the house, touching things to make them feel real, he wondered if it was time to divide the athelas yet, and if there were enough leaves for more tea.

( Farmir, Boromir, and Théo )

In the deepest part of the night, the dark thing shook himself awake. He had been hoarding his strength against the effects of the foul weed, but tonight the Master called him and he must answer.

Losing his pursuer was an easy matter for they had assigned a Man, not an Elf, and it was simple to disappear into a large crowd of people exiting a public event. He did not join the boisterous shouts, but he was attired as they and the sense of his hunter faded in his mind.

When he was certain that no one marked his passage, he turned his steps to the abandoned house where he had first found knowledge of this changed world.

The place was as dilapidated as it had been before and he slid over the fence into the back garden. The noxious weed grew thick around the pond, but as it was not inside him so he was able to withstand its effects. He knelt beside the pond.

“I have come as thou hath commanded.”

The pond rippled in the still night. Darkness and chill airs emanated from it.

Bring me a life, however insignificant, and I will succor thee.

Khamûl bowed his head low and then rose, his nostrils flaring as he sought the scent of living blood. He found a small lizard scurrying amongst the rocks surrounding the pool. He snared it with his fingers and held it up, gazing at it dispassionately while he fed on its fear, for even so tiny a brain could recognize undiluted evil. He dropped it into the pond.

The waters roiled, becoming cloudy, noisome smells sprung from the water, and loathsome lights appeared within it. The waters geysered up, sulfurous and hot, and the ground about the water shook.

Khamûl stood unmoved by the display and soon he saw some monstrous form struggling for birth within the waters. It was disgorged at last, a beast fell and savage, ripping its way into the world from its unholy birth.

The Wraith caught its gaze before it could stretch its wings to take flight, and the beast stilled, frozen in fear of its lawful master.

Hide thy steed until such times as thou might pour terror on the lives of these paltry Men.

“As thou commands, so shall it be done,” Khamûl replied, bowing.

The pond stilled and the night was as quiet as though no malevolent presence had ever marred its tranquility.

The dark thing turned to his trembling mount, slipping on to the beast with the ease of a familiar motion. The beast stretched its wings at last, gathering its muscles as it clawed its way into the sky. When they reached the upper airs in the chill wind, Khamûl turned his steed to fly over the city, swooping low over places that interested him, but not yet close enough that the wretched humans might discover the new threat. But they passed their lives ignorant of the destruction that spied on their lands.

When he was satisfied, Khamûl flew the beast across the dark waters of the harbor, to an island lost by itself in the straits. Here he bade the beast to linger, surviving on sea birds and dead fish unless its master should call. After he was certain that the beast would obey, having gone into its dull mind and planting limitless fear within it, Khamûl ordered it to fly him back to the city.

The Wraith returned to his dwelling place and the beast returned to its exile on the cold island.

Jed was on edge again, something about Christian just seemed to bother him, and he was still cold despite the insulated costume that Pete had wardrobe cook up. But he was doing his best to focus.

He had gone back to the storage area to satisfy Christian's latest whim, bloody git, looking for some things from Heavenly Creatures. There was someone else moving around in here, bloody warehouse, where no one should be. He followed the sounds, wondering why he didn't call out. Had to be a Weta employee.

Cate had not wanted to come, but Galadriel had eventually talked her into it, curious to see if any of the so-called props at Weta had taken on the properties of the objects they were modeled after, as Nenya had. She paused when she heard someone coming toward her, and turned with narrowed eyes to see who it was. Something felt ... off, but she could not quite place what.

( This world is not for you )

I wake up on the floor again. It's getting worse, the losing time. I get up, my muscles protesting, fuck, I shouldn't feel this grotty, I'm in decent shape. I thought I was. The mirror gives me no joy, I look like I'm still pissed.

Back to the kitchen, make an extra-strong pot of brew, hoping to jump start my mind. This has got to fucking stop. I don't know what else to try though. Everything else seems like a fucking fairy tale.

Ah, fuck, I've tried every else, might as well take a trip to la-la land. I haul out the phone book and search the business listings. Madame Delores. She'll do.

( No appointment necessary. )

I hang up the phone slowly. The doctor’s office finally rang with my results.

The doc put me through blood tests, MRI’s, x-rays, stress tests and all kinds of other medical bullshit. The nurse blathered on and on . . . negative . . . negative . . . negative. Including a drug screen that I didn’t remember giving permission for and I bristled at that, until she told me it had been in one of the heaps of forms that I signed without bloody well looking at them. Need a fucking solicitor just to go the doctor’s.

No brain tumours then, good to know. But the rest gets me shaky.

She seemed like a nice bird, but she hesitated over the doc’s suggestions. Doctor thinks you could benefit from getting a full night’s sleep, always difficult when one is experiencing such a traumatic transition in life, so she’s called in some prescriptions for a sleep-aid and an anti-depressant. She also would like you to make an appointment with a psychologist.

I lean against the wall, an odd grief clenching me . . . so now I’m a nutter. I’ve heard loss can do that, but I thought I was immune to it. Thought my anger was enough to keep me safe.

I need . . . to work, to give my weasel a run, to get pissed to the gills. Something . . . anything. Anything but living this fucking nightmare.

This deck is my favorite part of the house, I decide, sitting outside and watching the sun go down off to the side, but still making the water far below glow. I scull another bottle, already got three dead soldiers laying around.

Yeah, the deck is fucking good and I've got decent furniture, nothing fancy just comfortable, thanks to Pete's tip on the mercantile, they set me right. All I had to do was giv’em a general idea what I wanted. And it's something new, the bright hasn't worn off it yet. But dammit, I'm still here on my own. It's different, but the shit inside me is still the same. I've just got a nicer place to be miserable.

It felt so fucking off to be setting my bits around without Glory there making all the decisions. I’m starting to think I don’t know how to think for myself anymore. I earned the swag, she kept the house and the kids and we muddled along just beaut. I know this is all on me, but I still can’t cipher why she went so wobbly about it. Not like I was keeping two houses or got the spinner up the duff. It was a one time thing, slipped my johnson in the wrong cunny, had no intention of repeating the mistake.

As I sit, steadily drinking, going over every single conversation that I can remember, trying to see how I could have fixed it before it got so far, this little niggling idea starts to grow. And every time I turn around, it’s there. Fuck, I’m a brain-dead sheep.

The bitch wanted out anyway.

All I did was give her the sodding best reason in world for leaving her ratbag husband, and getting to play fucking martyred queen at the same bloody time. And that cow waltzed her skanky bum off to Sydney and not one fucking person even questioned it. God, I’m such a fuckwit.

She’ll fucking pay. I’ll see a solicitor as soon as I can. She’ll regret she ever crossed me.

I rang the estate agents on Monday, and made an appointment with one of them to meet at the office and she’d take me round to some of the flats and lofts that they have on their listings.

I show up on time the next day and meet Sheila Morgan. She’d run a search of properties that I might like to look at. I’d told her on the phone that I wanted at least three bedrooms, didn’t much care about the bathrooms and no yard. Don’t want to fuck with it right now, have enough on my plate. I go over the list and eliminate a few, then we leave in her car. Part of the service, we use up her petrol on this hunt, not mine.

There’s a few lofts down by the inner harbor, nice enough, but somehow they don’t appeal. And we look at a couple of semi-detached in a retirement community where they take care of your yard for you.

I wink at her. “Don’t put me out to pasture, yet. Still got a few good years in me.”

She laughs, saying that it was just an option she thought she’d show me. We’re flirting mildly, nothing to it cause she's wearing rings, but she’s selling and I’m selling and a little give and take makes the whole process go easier.

“I have another property, but it’s a house, don’t know if it’s more than what you’re looking for, but there’s no yard, according to the listing.”

( another blackout . . .  )

When I get back to my flat, after dropping Sid off at the stable, and getting some takeaways and pack of Montheiths, I look around. Scrungy place is a might as well be a fucking dunny. Doesn’t solve a thing, me living like this. And going the hair-shirt route hasn’t made me feel any better.

No twinks while I was out there, so I’ll put off seeing a doc. But I’ve taken to avoiding the mirrors when I’m in the loo. Bloody ridiculous, but I don’t want to see what’s there.

I swallow the beer down quickly and reach for another, eating the food, thinking. My holiday helped clear my head, and I can see that I’ve got to shift my digs if I’m gonna get the kids to come around again. I’ll fight the rotten bitch. No reason why they can’t visit their da. But I’ve got to have a flat worth visiting.

Not a house, no yard, nothing like that. Maybe a patio flat. I’ll call an agent in the morning.

Howard insists we film today, then takes off, leaving us with the A.D., fucking bastard. I get into it though, glad of the hard work taking my mind off things. Too much piled up shit going on, between Glory and Dylan and everything else, I've just had enough.

And I'm getting nervous about the blackouts, had another one the day after Dylan died. Ran into Karl at the hotel, he was smiling and I said hello, and then . . . I blinked, and he was glaring at me. ”Get the fuck away from me, Jed. What the fuck’s your problem? You’re acting like a nutter.”

I’ve got no memory of saying anything off to him. I’m wondering if I've got a tumor or something else wrong with my head. I should see a doc, but I'm almost scared of the answer. If I'm gonna cark it from something gruesome, maybe I'd rather it just sneak up on me and pounce than sit there waiting for death to come get me.

( How do you ease your grief? )