All the man could see was red- red hair covering the other's face, red shirt on his back, red blood on his black boots and jeans. When he saw the red eyes, he knew he was dead.
Malichai was hungry, pissed and really needing to get out of the clothes he'd been wearing for the last forty years in torpor. So he didn't waste time hunting down a meal- the homeless were more prevalent nowadays, but the stench of their flesh did not overpower the smell of their blood, therefore he was satiated quite quickly.
After emptying the pockets of what little change his victims had, he headed toward a payphone to call the only person he knew wouldn't screw him- Jesse. He only hoped the man hadn't drunk himself to death by now....
Jesse Fitzgerald- head of Forensics at the Seattle Police Department- picked up his phone, wondering who was calling at such an hour. "Forensics."
"Hey, Jess, you still keep my old place?"
Jesse almost dropped the phone- his face turning white as snow. "Malichai? They said-"
"I forced myself into torpor after Ophelia died, I know. That was Trevane's doing to make sure he got control of the Archon."
"Shit, man...." Jesse shook his head. "But Trevane has a lot of supporters now. You'll have a hell of a fight."
"Correction, after the fight I"ll be taking Trevane to Hell personally."
Jesse rolled up to the curb in his Explorer, staring as Malichai opened the door and slid in. He had pulled his long red hair back from his face with a rubberband and attempted to make himself presentable.
When Jesse handed him a set of keys, Malichai remarked how little he had changed- aside from the grey halo of hair making him look like a friar, Jesse actually looked better than he did when Malichai last saw him. Although he was near seventy now.
"Quit looking at me that, Kai." Jesse mumbled, putting the car in gear and driving off. "I quit drinking and joined a gym, so sue me!"
All Malichai could do is howl in laughter even as he thanked the gods at least one human didn't want him dead.
