Wednesday. December 26, 2007.

Madrid was just as he remembered it. An old world paradise of bustling culture, nostalgic stone architecture, and full of people. It was as any capitol city of any country from any part of the world should be. A hideously major tourist attraction. Though he had been born here, as it were, Spain did not feel like home to Salvador. Even though he knew the streets well, he only felt like one of them. Another tourist.

Not long after he had left the airport he had picked up a tail. He knew it immediately. Could feel the quarter block pace between himself and the person following him as well as if there were a rope tied to each of their waists. Salvador had been made with an innate danger sense that alerted him as a tingle down the joints of his spikes.

He spent the better part of his stay, for the first few days, playing hide and seek with his shadow. They made a game of it, though the other was unaware of it being one. He ducked down alleys, climbed fire escapes, crawled through windows and left practically impossible to track trails for his ghost. Why he even played this game at all he did not know. At least it kept him entertained.

After the first two days, he knew where his quarry was. He knew the sinner had made a base for himself in an apartment over a cafe. A building and a block that he kept a wide berth from. He had not discovered the location by any mundane means. Needing no bed of his own, Salvador had taken to sleeping wherever seemed suitable to hide from his seeking shadow and get some rest.

From rooftops and alleyways, tucked into corners and pressed against trash bins, he used his clairvoyance mostly to scour the city. On Christmas he had spotted him. Watched him from an extremely safe distance on the other side of Madrid. Followed him only with his spiritual eyes. As much of a joy and a relief it was to see him alive and well, the mighty hunter was reluctant to confront him. To meet him. To let him know he was here.

You ran away for a reason, Sin. A stupid reason, no doubt. You ran away from me. Why do you always run? Like a fox to ground when the hounds were hot on his trail. Sin was the fox. Salvador was the hound. But where was the hunter with his rifle? Ah. That's right. He was hunting the hound instead of the fox.

For those too few days, he only watched. When he wasn't leading his shadow down dead ends and twisting turns, he took pause to perch on ledges, closed his eyes, and watched from his safe distance. He knew the reason. Didn't want to accept the reason.

This is not what he wanted.

Why do I have such a bad feeling crawling up my spine?

The last bell tolled the hour. The Jackal squealed in hungry delight, its jaws opening wide beyond realistic compare, thick tendrils of shadow oozing from between its teeth as it leaned in and engulfed Ambrose in one swift swallow, engorging itself on the Ravnos as its red eyes turned onto Sinjin. We see you.

Salvador shook his head abruptly when that vision assaulted him. He nearly tumbled off his perch on the fire escape in the alley between a book store and curiosity shop. His tail was busy weaving in and out of doors trying to figure out where he had went. Had even come into the alley and looked up, but by the better hunter's will he was not seen.

He listened to a two-way conversation on walkie-talkies. Watched his tracker from behind the veil. Saw the gray and white and black outline of him through a haze of red static. "Montero, come in. Do you read me?"

So this man was named Montero. He was nothing spectacular to look at, except that he was certainly Spanish. He had the dark hair and eyes of the land. Paler skin than most people would think a Spaniard to possess, but Spain was not South America. This man was more European, and clearly an officer of the law. The man took up the device from his belt and spoke into it. "Yes, Pires. I read you." He sounded irritated.

"Did you lose him again?"

"That easy to tell is it?"

"I can hear it in your voice," squawked Pires over the speaker. Salvador resisted the urge to chuckle. This little game of cat and mouse between spying on the sinner kept him thoroughly amused. "Well, why don't you come in for lunch? Take a break."

Montero frowned his irate disappointment. He could see the man's aura swirl with a deeper seated red of rage. The tighter grip he held the walkie with was an indication. Perhaps he had just resisted the urge to toss the device against the wall. Curbing most of his anger, he growled into the object after pushing the button. "And leave this guy to wander freely around the city, Pires? What if he goes on another killing spree? We have to catch him."

"He's been in the city three days, Montero. We don't even know if it's the same guy. Nobody has got a decent picture of him. Only a bunch of anonymous calls, and--"

"I know it's him, Pires," the inspector shouted into the walkie. There was a momentary interruption of glaring squeal from the device when the two-way channel was forced to work double time. "I'd know that face anywhere. I saw him. I've seen him. He's somewhere around here. Close. I can feel it."

Under his breath and completely silent, Salvador did chuckle. His body shook along with his amusement. Oh, I'm here all right, inspector. Close enough to feel. Close enough to touch. Close enough to-- The haze of red static swelled around the man's form. Seemed to want to swallow him whole on the hunter's account, right then and there.

My resurrection was carved in flesh. My gospel written in blood.

When I woke up, it was to the taste of his blood. Some of the madness.. it's gone. I feel a little less tense. Not all of it gone, but some. And that is a good beginning.

I remember walking the land. I remember you shadowing my every step. I remember bathing in a pool of blood and sanctifying our home with fevered lust. The floor is still stained with the evidence of our crime.

The floor is still stained...

Madrid was still stained. When he snapped out of that lapse and shook his head, the inspector was gone. A brief clairvoyant search told him Montero had decided to get some lunch and take a break anyway. He doubted that was the last time he would see him. The man was fiercely determined to serve the cause of justice. He had every good reason to want to catch him. Salvador had not been wrong in his doubts either.

Only the day after Christmas did he realize he had missed it. The holiday had slipped him by completely. Not even the emptier streets and the singing cheer had clued him in. Not even watching Sin be so lonely, adopting a new cat, taking it home where it hated him, had been a hint. Only when there were people walking about again, children playing with new toys they hadn't had the day before, did he realize he had missed Christmas.

"What would you like for Christmas?"

"Nothing."

"Then I suppose you'll be upset when I get you something."

"Don't get me anything."

"I'm getting you something."

"Fine. If you must get me something... Help me get Sin a Camaro."

There had been plots and plans. He remembered them as a fleeting dream that had happened years ago instead of truthfully only a short week. Valentine had insisted. She was determined. She had spent Christmas alone.

It was a risk, of that he was certain. Going to the post office to write and mail a quick letter was a huge risk. Not only was it a very public place, but it was also a government building, which meant more wanted posters. More eyes that might recognize his face. But he realized it needed to be done. Val was probably tearing her hair out, cursing them for just up and leaving. For daring to skip out on Christmas!

The post office was buzzing with energy. There were so many people picking up their after holiday packages, the gifts that came in late. The lines were long. Perfumes and colognes stunk up the atmosphere. He was lucky to have even found a piece of plain paper, a pen, and an envelope. He knew her address. Wrote a quick message. Was even luckier to have found enough spare change dropped in a gutter somewhere to pay for the postage. At the rate of travel, he guessed the letter would get to her by tomorrow.

One major obstacle had been taken care of. He left the post office hastily once his business was done, as soon as he could be free. Across the street was a small eatery, and for once he was desperately craving something fresh and hot, something not pulled out of a dumpster in one of a thousand back alleys that he practically lived in. Money was easy to come buy in Madrid. Everybody's pockets were full of it, and those pockets were not so difficult to pick. Not for a boy who could become invisible, turn himself into a ghost.

Worry and hunger clouded his judgment that day. He did not think twice about how empty the little restaurant was. No crowd was better than the dozens packed into the post office that had irritated him. He did not even notice the furtive glances given to him by the waitress and other members of the serving staff. Salvador took his stolen money to a booth, took a seat, and ordered enough food to feed three of himself. Not long after he was brought a cup of coffee, he realized he had unexpected company. A rude bit of company who had decided to press the barrel of a gun against the side of his head.

"I thought it was you," said Inspector Montero. He recognized the voice right away. Despite the discontent of not having felt the warning signal, Salvador grinned. "Keep your hands where I can see them." They always said that. To humor the man, he put his palms flat on the table to either side of his place mat.

The little restaurant filled with silence and shifty looks. Out of the corner of his eye he watched his waitress tuck herself into a corner around the wall that separated dining room from kitchen. He could feel the curiosity and fear bleeding into the air. He could taste it, and it only kept him grinning.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you?" The inspector slid a cautious side-step around to better face him. He kept the gun leveled and pressed against the mighty hunter's skull with one hand. Called for back-up on his walkie with the other quickly, before he took the grip of his firearm in both.

Salvador did not answer him. He had nothing to say to this man. Nothing that would matter anyway. He only closed his eyes, kept his hands flat on the table, and grinned.

The floor is still stained...

We are not so very different, you and I.

I mean what I say but don't always say what I mean.

You did not let me explain. Though I've never been good at explaining much of anything.

Beware the prey who smiles. Tell him not your name.

"One year, eight months, and six days," the inspector told him, breaking the spell of his wayward thoughts. Though Salvador had not asked him to elaborate, the man seemed to think it important to tell him anyway. "I'm Inspector Elias Fabrega Montero. Don't forget that name, asshole. You killed my partner. Only fitting that I bring you in."

Ah. So this man had been the other inspector's partner. Well, he was right. It was only fitting that he be the one to bring the murderer to justice. Salvador only hummed a thoughtful noise. "Mm." He understood clearly.

"I heard you're pretty good at dodging bullets. Even able to take a few and still get up from them. I don't know who or what the hell you are, but something tells me if I were to pull the trigger from this close--" The inspector shoved the barrel harder against the side of Salvador's head just to emphasize the fact that it was still there. "--you won't be getting up."

What are you?

Foolish of me to think that Ambrose didn't know.

No gentle hand was there to guide me and slap my hand away from the hot stove. I learned it was hot by touching, a long time later than most children do. I never learned as children do.

She thinks me a monster. She thinks me heartless. She thinks me cruel.

It looks so different in between. Rain falls up instead of down.

"Now slowly," Montero said, "lift your hands up and put them behind your head." They were simple instructions. Easy to follow. With his eyes still closed, with the shuffling sound of more steps closing in on him and a gun held against his head, he did just that. Slowly, Salvador lifted his hands and laced them behind his head. So lethargically calm. As if he were at perfect ease and there was no anxious chaos circling around him.

He heard the click of thin metal cuffs. Felt the chill slap against his skin. Close pointlessly around his wrists. Those would not hold him. They only made him grin.

The inspector read him his rights. Another officer grabbed him up by the chain of his restraints and pulled him out of his booth. Salvador slid from his seat without a struggle. Though they seemed so very intent on jostling him about. What rights he had in Spain were not the same as other places. What they said did not matter. Where they led him did not matter. All that noise faded out as a buzz behind what was important.

Amongst them he could still hear the murmurs, though. "Is that really him?" "Yes, that's really him." "I'm sure it's him. I never forget a face." "He doesn't look so tough." "Psychos never look so tough." They kept him grinning. Docile, calm, and grinning.

No threads of taint. No puppet strings.

Redeem my name.

The weight of a thousand hours fell down around me and crushed away the world.

How can you possibly understand?

She asks me if this is the penance I have chosen for myself.

This was not Barcelona. She was not awake to ask him then. Maybe this was further penance. Or maybe this was just a way for him to bide his time. They ushered him into a car. They drove him to the precinct. They copied his fingerprints into ink and rolled patterns on a page.

The entire time, Salvador said nothing. They processed him and put him in a room. He walked with his eyes closed. He let them push him around from points A to B to Z. Wherever they chose to push him. He said nothing. They asked him questions and he answered none of them. They were not worth his time. They were flies on a wall buzzing in his ears.

Inspector Montero was desperate. Angry. Intent. He shouted his questions and slapped his hands hard on the table between them. Nothing made Salvador flinch, nor bat a lash, nor anything at all. He only sat there, calm as a stone, eyes closed and grinning. Even when he was grabbed, in an attempt to use bad-cop tactics, and shook, he did not move. He was a statue of perfect serenity. This was where he wanted to be.

Something happened between then and now.

There is much to say, but I wonder if you will be displeased by the words I have to share.

I hope you can forgive the mess I made.

Sombra blanca - he was everywhere. I held my breath and waited, but it wasn't him.

Hard to tell with these eyes. Not easy to see.

Even the toughest stone erodes with time.

That one made his grin curve even sharper. "You think this is funny, asshole?" Montero slapped both hands down on the table that time. He leaned in close. Close enough to kiss. If Salvador really thought it was funny, he might have kissed him. Just to make things funnier.

"Montero, that's enough!" He recognized that voice as well. The voice from the other end of a set of walkie-talkies. One the inspector had held in his hand, in an alley, only so many hours or days ago.

"Let me go, Pires!" The other man had pulled him off the table. Salvador felt his shadow peel away. His breath sink and slide backward.

He heard the second man shove the first against the wall. That pleasant fleshy thump of cushioned bone. The rustle of cloth made into clothes. "Elias! You need to calm the hell down. Fuck this guy. We've been at this for hours. He's not going to talk."

"He'll talk," Montero growled. He could hear him struggling, trying to shove the other officer off of him. Maybe his new partner. Pires might be a replacement. "I'll make him talk."

"With what, Elias? Torture? That's not proper procedure. We'll get canned so fast if we pull that shit. Come on." He heard the door open. He heard the huff and stomp of pent up aggression slide into the hall. "Take a breather. We'll get the bastard a lawyer, then maybe he'll talk."

He will never know my name.