Blood of Gato

William curled tight on the narrow bed, like he was tryin' to fold himself away from the whole wide world. His shoulders shivered, breath ragged, eyes open and burnin' though he forced 'em shut, like a man fightin' the weight of his own soul.

Leticia set her hand soft upon his chest. From her fingers seeped a thin mist, pale and near invisible, glowin' cold and blue like lantern-light through water. The chill wrapped around him gentle, dimmin' the fire roarin' inside till his breath began to settle. But in his eyes, Lord help him, a storm still raged.

"What done happen to you, cher?" she whispered, leanin' close, voice low and tender as a hymn. She searched his face like she was tryin' to catch the second his pain eased off just a touch.

William squeezed his eyes shut, jaw cut sharp with strain, fightin' somethin' he couldn't name. Silence stretched on, heavy as swamp heat, till at last a rough sound broke from him.

"I don't know…" The words scraped out raw. "Since these powers woke up, they been eatin' me alive. And talkin' to Cain—" his voice hitched. "It was like rippin' down the last dam inside me. What used to whisper in the dark now tears me apart in daylight. I can't sleep. Close my eyes and I fall into the pit. Voices there—so many of 'em—cryin', callin', draggin' at me. My whole self feels hollow, like I'm nothin' but a puppet. My hands twitch… like strings are waitin' to pull me into some wicked dance."

He stopped. The quiet after was thick, pushin' down on him. Strange, how the words came easy to her, like he didn't even have to fight to speak. But the fire in his chest—he could only pour it out to her.

Leticia's teeth caught her lip. Her hand twitched upward, yearnin' to brush through his hair, soothe him back down—but she stopped. Her heart pinched hard. He looked so tired. So bone-alone.

"William…" she began slow, voice heavy with that bayou drawl, carin' and stern all at once. "Baby, you keep on wrestlin' with your own shadow. That's the trouble. You ain't accepted yourself yet. And sugar, long as you fight what's already part o' you… you gon' lose that fight, time after time."

He whipped his head to her, eyes flarin' hot.

"Accepted?!" His voice cracked into a shout, like the words were bein' ripped out. "You want me to give in to those damn voices? To let 'em push me till I'm tearin' people apart just to feed some twisted hunger? You'd have me spit blood in the world's face so they can all see what a monster I am?!"

He was shoutin', but not at her. The fury was aimed at the mirror of himself.

Leticia's hand glowed colder, wrappin' him tighter in calm. She caught his fingers before they balled to fists, holdin' him steady, keepin' him from breakin' himself apart.

"No, bebé," she said, voice firm as cypress roots, gentle as summer rain. "Ain't tellin' you to bow down to evil. I'm tellin' you quit cuttin' yourself to ribbons. You keep pretendin' there's you… and then somethin' else, crawlin' inside. But that's a lie, sugarpie. That's still you. All of it. Light and shadow, heads and tails on the same coin. Keep denyin' that, and the fight inside gon' burn you to cinders."

He turned away, facin' the wall, but he didn't pull from her hand. He was listenin', even through the boil of his anger.

Leticia eased back on the bed beside him, starin' at the low ceiling of her little wagon-house, still holdin' his hand like an anchor. Her voice went softer, low and thoughtful, thick with the honey of her accent.

"You know, when I was a girl, I heard a preacher man say somethin' that been stuck to me like burrs ever since. He told me, 'First step to changin' is ownin' yourself whole. All of it.' You try and split a coin, cher—what you end up with ain't heads or tails no more. Just broken metal. A soul's the same way. Tear it in two, keep on refusin' to own what's yours—well, bébé, sooner or later you ain't gon' have no soul left to save."

She turned onto her side and met his eyes. There was no pity in her gaze—only steady, unshaken certainty.

"William, there ain't no devil inside you. No one standin' behind your back, pullin' at strings. Everythin' you do, you do with your own hands. When your arm rises to kill, cher, it's your arm—nothin' else's. Yes, there's temptation, darker impulses. But they're part of you, too. If you're scared of them, it means you're scared of yourself. And at the end of that road, you only got two choices: accept it and change… or drown fightin' it forever."

Her words cut sharp as a blade, but her voice carried softness, honest and warm enough to soothe the wound after. He knew she wasn't lying; he could feel it. Somewhere, deep in his own chest, William understood—what she said wasn't borrowed wisdom or secondhand dogma. Her voice carried the weight of someone who had lived it.

And yet… even as Leticia soothed him, he heard it. Too clear. Too close. That dry, scraping laugh—the kind no living throat could make. A sound somewhere between rusted iron and a beast's low growl.

She says, "There is no devil—it's all you." But the thing inside only laughed louder, the sound curling ugly and mocking. It mocked her… mocked him.

"Tear them. Feed 'em flesh and fear. That's what you want. We both know it."

The whisper crawled hot into his ear, and his spine prickled with cold shivers.

William clenched his jaw until his teeth groaned, fists tightening until the knuckles cracked in protest.

Has it really been there all along?

The thought sealed cold in his chest. Leticia could talk all she wanted about "two sides of the same coin," but he knew—this thing wasn't just him. It was other. Alien. And it was hungry.

He almost told her. About the voice, the rancid laughter that had never once left him alone. He wanted to spit it all out—to make her understand this wasn't just guilt or shadows. Inside him lived a beast. A thing both cruel and patient, gnawing at the cage of his soul.

His eyes lifted to hers, ready to break, ready to pour it out—

But the moment their gazes caught, he froze. She was already watching him, intent, steady. Listening without words. Almost as if she already knew. And strangely… that touch of silent understanding almost felt like relief.

Then, in the silence, a sound broke. A sharp thud—dull and heavy—at the door.

William jolted, pulling back from her look like a thief caught red‑handed. Leticia's head snapped up, surprise flickering quick across her face.

"You expectin' somebody?" William asked, pushing himself up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. The timing twisted his gut—too well-timed, too wrong.

She only shook her head. A sly little smile tugged at her lips, the kind she wore when she wanted to look braver than maybe she felt.

"No. Nobody. 'Cept… maybe Cain." She gave a small shrug.

The knock came again—louder this time. Harder. No patience left in it. Almost a warning.

William's brow furrowed tight.

"What business you got with him? And why's he comin' to your door this late?" His words slapped out sharper than he realized, edged with sudden heat.

The instant they left his mouth, he bit down, lips pressed tight as though he could swallow them back.

Why'd you ask that? What's it matter to you? —he cursed himself silently.

Leticia narrowed her eyes mischievously at him, watching like a cat studying a naïve little sparrow. She tilted her head, slow and deliberate, savoring his awkwardness before finally purring in a low, teasing murmur:

"Well now… what if I told you… that he and I, every night, right here, on this very bed…" Her hand slid lazily across the sheet beneath him, her touch more suggestion than gesture. Sparks of mockery flickered in her eyes. The words were half a joke—but her look was far too bold, far too suggestive.

William shot upright, hands flying up as his ears flamed crimson. His chest tightened with frantic breath:

"Alright, I get it! I shouldn't have asked! Not my business anyway…"

He turned sharply away from her, cheeks burning so hot they could have set the curtains alight.

Leticia burst out laughing, delighted with her little victory. The sound was bright, ringing, and she gave him a playful swat on the shoulder. Joyous and teasing, though under the sweetness lingered a note of fondness.

"Oh, don't go blushin' like that, cher. I'm only pullin' your leg." She softened, her grin curving gentler. "Ain't nothin' 'tween us. Strictly business. He wanted me to track someone with a divination spell. In return… he let me sip a little of his energy, just enough to blur my own trail. Makes it harder for folks to trace me."

Something in William eased at her words, like a weight slipping from his back. He almost didn't realize a sigh of relief had escaped him.

But of course, Leticia noticed.

"Aha…" she purred, her tone sly as poisoned honey. "So you were jealous after all, hm?"

William froze stiff, scrambling for a defense.

"I—no! No, of course not. I was just…" He fumbled, forcing a strained chuckle, eyes dropping to the floor. "Y'know what, let's… let's open the door before he kicks it down."

Desperate to change the subject, he gestured toward the door, where the pounding was growing heavier, sharper, edged with annoyance.

Leticia, smug with triumph, deliberately stalled. She let the moment hang, watching him with that unreadable little smirk, like she was peeling through his excuses thought by thought. Only when she was good and ready did she stroll lazily to the door, drawling out each step as though she had all the time in the world. Finally she pulled it open—

And Cain practically collapsed across the threshold, face twisted, out of breath. He didn't bother with so much as a greeting. His eyes darted around the cramped trailer, locking instantly on the little door to the washroom. He lunged for it, slammed it shut behind him so hard the walls rattled—seconds later, the embarrassing growl of his gut echoed through the thin wood.

William stood frozen, dumbstruck by the absurdity of the scene. Slowly he turned. Leticia glanced back at him—and that was all it took. Their eyes met, and both of them erupted in laughter. Quick, light, unexpected—tension blown away like dust.

"Right…" William rubbed at the corner of his mouth, trying to wipe away the grin still tugging at it. "You're still supposed to be hiding from that cult, aren't you? Damn it, I forgot all about that. I was supposed to stop by and power you up, wasn't I? We… we made a deal."

Leticia arched a brow at him, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

"Mm-hm. That's right. Real shameful of you to leave a lady waitin'—very ungentlemanly." Then, just as smoothly, her scolding melted into a coaxing, playful tone. "Lucky for you, cher, turns out what little I kept of your energy from before held me over. Not for long, though—was nearly burnin' through the last of it. So yes… when that dog came knockin', I took his offer."

She put just enough disdain into that last word—dog—but her smile stayed calm, mocking, almost serene.

A dog, William repeated silently. She clearly disliked him.

For some reason, that thought left a little warmth in his chest.

Moments later, Cain emerged from the bathroom. He flushed the toilet loudly—ceremonial almost—then staggered out, tugging at his half-buttoned pants. His face was pale, but he wore an oddly satisfied grin, like a man who had just shed the weight of a boulder.

"Good Lord, if I ever eat at that rotting Chinese dump again—the Pink Peacock, mind you—strike me dead where I stand!" he cried, smacking his belly with an echoing thump. "Felt like my guts were twisting into knots. Nearly left half of 'em in there! Sweet, merciful God, I feel reborn…" He rolled his eyes heavenward as if thanking the heavens, then let his face sag into melodrama. "And tell me—why in hell did you two make me stand outside? I almost died on your doorstep!"

"We ain't hear ya right away, cher," Leticia answered, drawling from her chair with a lazy smirk, like she'd been half-entertained by his discomfort the whole time.

Cain turned his gaze on them both, arranging his face into pious severity, shaking his head slow, like a disappointed priest eyeing two sinners in a pew.

"No… surely not…" he began with heavy, false dread. "You mean to tell me you were in here—indulging in carnal mischief?" He clutched a hand to his heart like a scandalized prophet. "Children, children… have you no shame? I can feel the devil himself lingering in this house!"

He thrust one arm into the air like he was already mid-exorcism.

Leticia rolled her eyes, pressing her palm to her nose with a theatrical sigh.

"The only devil I'm smellin', sugar, is the one crawled outta your belly. Lord have mercy, Cain—would it kill you to strike a match? You near turned this poor trailer into a gas chamber!"

She waved her hand in front of her face with exaggerated disgust. Cain twitched, sniffed the air himself, and realized she was right—the stink was undeniable. He grimaced, caught between shame and defiant pride, and twisted his lips into a crooked smile as though it wasn't his problem at all.

"William," he said smoothly, pivoting from embarrassment with a sudden beam of immaculate teeth—white and flawless, as if they'd never been smashed—"I am very glad to see you on your feet again. That you didn't abandon me in my hour of need."

William leaned against the wall, arms folded tight across his chest, gaze cold.

"Don't flatter yourself. I came here for Leticia. Not for you," he said flatly.

Cain cocked one brow, his smirk widening, as if to silently ask: Are you sure about that? He didn't need to say it—his amusement spoke for him.

William exhaled through his nose and steered his words elsewhere.

"So. Did you get an answer? Why the police came for you? Was there something serious, or was it just you panicking?"

Cain spread his arms slowly and lowered himself into a chair with exaggerated poise, as if stepping into a stage spotlight.

"Yes and no," he replied, dragging the words as though savoring them. His eyes flicked toward the ceiling, voice almost hushed with tragic weight. "I didn't figure out all the details. But I figured out one thing for certain. The thread they're pulling on—it leads back to the construction site. My construction site."

"So, they near 'bout sniffed out your little den, huh, Cain?" Leticia drawled without sparin' him so much as a look. She was already busy at the tiny kitchen counter, scooping coffee slow and easy into that beat‑up metal pot of hers. The thing always hissed like a snake when it boiled, and she let it sing like it was part of the show.

Cain's eyes flickered sharp, like a blade catching torchlight, but he held his tongue. No sense trading barbs with her—her tongue was sharper than his steel, and he knew it.

"They ask you anything serious?" William broke in, his brow furrowed. "Or were they just poking around for the sake of it?"

"Of course they did." Cain waved a hand dismissively. "A whole flood of them—where I was on this date, who saw me, do I frequent Irish pubs… nothing but routine alibi‑testing. Nothing new. But!" He jabbed a finger in the air, as if savoring a hidden twist. "While one of them was chattering me up, the other was scooping up dust and scraps off the site. Neat little brush, neat little bag. Evidence collection, as pretty as you please."

Leticia let out a quick, bubbling laugh, low in her throat, as she poured water into the pot. The sound came out half‑amused, half‑scornful.

"Oooh, Cain, honey, that's as plain as day. Means they got somethin' real in their hands now. And you know it, don't ya, cher? You gone and pushed your own self into a corner, that's what."

She gave the pot a little swirl, her bracelets jingling in rhythm, before setting it on the flame. Her smile was sweet as sugarcane, but the sting in her words was barbed like swamp briars.

Cain popped his lips together in a sharp, hollow sound—like he was spitting out the idea with scorn.

"Not my finest hour," he admitted at last, stroking along his beard, though his tone tried real hard to stay lazy, as if he still had the upper hand.