James was not sure which puzzled him more: the conspicuous absence of blood from Anna's recent wounds or the alacrity with which she snatched up her purse to dump it contents out across the bed. What was she looking for? Only when she deftly grabbed the small pocket knife to flick its blade out and score her arm, he winced. It was only a small knife, true, but he had honed it to razor sharpness for her and watching her tender flesh part beneath that keen edge was somehow more terrifying than anything else he had experience that night. Considering he was dead, that was saying something. He had no real memory of his death or of the events that had followed, true, only his world view was that the mass murder of a hundred and some people should outweigh the shock of seeing a girl gash her arm open out of love. Should. It didn't.

At first principles, Anna's idea had merit. Her blood was gone, and he had become ever so slightly more tangible at the same time as its disappearance. The sight of his love now offering up her life's blood from a self-inflicted wound made him grimace and lean away, grimacing at the very thought that she would hurt herself for him. That, and even though something was tugging at his memory, it seemed like something out of a turgid vampire novella. "What?" he gasped in horror his hands held out before him in protest, "Am I supposed to drink that or..."

Through his fear and disgust, James could feel the cold in him stir. It was the first thing he could claim he truly felt at all, the rise of his essence as the warm, bright blood called out to him. It was then that the folktales he'd read in the town library answered his confusion. His crack about vampires hadn't been all that far off, he realized. Vampires and other undead creatures craved blood not for sustenance to fill their bodies but to steal life back. Only living things truly bled and the restless dead sought out that precious vitae to push away the cold and gain even just a memory of life. Japanese ghosts were almost always described as hungry. In Caribbean cultures and spiritual practices, the spirits of the dead were summoned with rum, candy and blood. Even in badly scripted movies and cheap fantasy novels, blood sacrifices brought spirits to life and called forth gods and demons alike. In his rational and logical mindset, James had always dismissed these notions as literary gimmicks or quaint cultural stories to be read for amusement. Now, with the input of this new and very personal data, he began to make the connections.

He reached out tentatively to lay what he perceived of as his fingers upon her arms, the ghostly tips dipping into the oozing blood. A touch that began gingerly soon became very, very solid. The heat of it rushed in to fill that core of cold that was central to his current existence. It was more than warmth; it was pleasure. Pleasure at feeling alive again, even if only for a few precious moments. The bleeding quickly stopped as his incorporeal form sopped it eagerly, leaving her arm clean if cut. James could sense that the warmth he had been granted would not last long, that he would quickly revert back to being intangible save at her will. How long did he have? Minutes? Seconds? More importantly, was there any food to be had, for he found that just as had been portrayed in that idiotic pirate movie by Disney, he craved the taste of an apple or a even a drink of water! With nothing in sight, he looked down at the hotel sheets. Closing his eyes, he removed his fingers from her arm to lightly touch the fabric.

It was nothing more than cheap, mass produced cloth suitable only for hotels of dubious quality. The fabric was worn thin from use and thousands of washings and bleachings. In fact, he could smell the bleach faintly upon them still! It was a harsh, caustic odor that ate at the nose and wrinkled the brow and he LOVED it! Every single thread could be felt in that small circle beneath his forefinger. James could make out exactly how they were woven together, crossing over and around and it was GLORIOUS! This ragged, ill used sheet that in its time had no doubt been slept upon, eaten upon, screw upon, bled upon, shat upon, pissed upon was REAL, almost overwhelmingly so! Had he been still alive, he doubted he would have noticed or even cared about the sheet save for a faint hope it had been washed really well. Now that he was dead, he was realizing exactly how much the living took for granted.

It was only a few moments that passed before the sensation began to quickly fade. It didn't last nearly long enough, and in desperation James could only hope it lasted long enough for one quick thing: he looked up to lean in close to Anna, his lips finding hers hastily to snatch a loving kiss before he faded back into the cold oblivion of nothingness. The touch of his mouth upon hers vanished only a second after contact with her oh-so-soft lips, the smell of her making him heady even as smell vanished altogether. In that second, he savored the taste of her. He had never thought of people having taste before; not in regards to eating or devouring people, but moreover in the realization that just as people could smell or look or sound in such and such a way, they could also have a flavor to them that was uniquely their own.

And then it was gone. Even the memory of that precious, brief instant that had just occurred faded a little to make him wonder. James could only recall that she had a taste, the sheets had a smell and the blood had felt wondrous within him... but the details of it were gone. He simply knew these things existed now, as though he had read them in a book but never experience them. Only there was this yearning to feel them all again.

And more.

For now, though, James controlled himself. Sighing, he shook his head. "We're gonna need a lot more blood if that's going to work, Anna. Let's just... think on that a bit, alright?" With a pleading look, he held his hands out to her in supplication. "And please don't slice yourself up like that again without warning me first?"

[i]'Cause I don't know what I'll do if you offer me more, Anna.[/i] The words were unspoken but hung in the air all the same.

Looking around the shattered remains of the hotel room, he pursed his lips as he steeled himself to keep calm. No doubt the hotel owners were not going to be happy come the morning. Not that he really cared himself, for after all there was little they could do to him. Only all of Anna's plans could be in jeopardy if they called the cops on her. Thinking of plans, he then asked, "So what now? Were you headed somewhere specific or did you have any ideas in mind?" He chuckled quietly as he surveyed the destruction. "I know we used to joke about all the places we'd run away to as kids: the circus, Disneyland, England, Alaska. Then there was that carrousel museum, the puppet show, the zoo. Ah... I'd rather skip that one church with all the skulls in Europe, if you don't mind though. Hits a little too close to home right now."