[ Another continuation of the Tanim/Daren story Stacy wrote, the original of which can be found here and a prequel to which (written by yours truly) can be found here. This piece takes place where the original story leaves off and was written by Stacy, then added to/edited by me. It actually has two endings, one of which is a continuation of the first, because neither of us could decide which one we liked more. ]

Tanim waited. He was good at waiting. He’d been waiting a long time, after all. Through a century of change, as thick asphalt paved over the cobblestone road outside his house, telephone poles with their lines hung like black garland replacing the rows of old oaks. He felt nothing as his grieving parents dismantled his old life piece by piece, and watched unseen while ruddy Negroes maneuvered his favorite red velvet chaise out the servants’ door and his sisters packed away his finest suits. He even eavesdropped as his mother sobbed in his empty bedroom, turning away at her pleas to God to spare his precious soul.

The years passed without measure and he could only stand helplessly by as his once grand and gilded home fell into disrepair, gray shingles bloated with moss and ivory paint flaking off like newly fallen snow. He saw strangers come and go, changing his house to suit their own desires, but fresh paint (pale lavender, a poor imitation of Victorian style and sensibilities) and a new wrought iron fence did little to restore the building’s glory. The view of his former street made Tanim cringe in disgust, ugly box structures and drab slate drives for miles in every direction. However, his grimace soon twisted into a feral grin as he made his dissatisfaction known from the attic, frightening the new tenants away and leaving him in silent solitude once more.

Alone, Tanim sank back into memory. He recalled his stifled adolescence of glittering luxury, the steady parade of ashen-faced women gently spinning parasols in girlish coquette like a garden of flowers perched on the steps of the gazebo. If he had a body left he might still have blushed at the memory of their laughter, their smiles, their affection he could not return but did not understand why. He would recall his family sometimes as well, kind mother and stern father and flighty sisters all so comfortable in their life of opulence. He remembered he loved them once, but such emotions were too far distant now to touch. Inevitably, his thoughts always circled back to his own crushing unhappiness and the final days of dark melancholy, coalescing in the sensation of coarse rope digging into his soft bare neck. He remembered hooking the toe of his polished black boot around the leg of the chair, remembered his final nervous swallow before closing his eyes and pulling the chair off balance. The feeling was always stronger in the gloom of the attic at 3:30, always overwhelming in May.

So Tanim waited with the endless patience of the dead as Daren’s body swayed gently from the attic rafters, turning to and fro like a cut of meat in a butcher’s shop. He had not anticipated how much it would hurt to see his lover this way, cold and weighted down with the heaviness of death. He wondered if his mother had experienced this disbelieving grief when she watched them cut his own body down, his lean features bloated and blue. Absently, Tanim raised a hand to finger the deep purple line around his neck, imagining his hand caressing a matching mark under Daren’s elegant throat. The bruise that would appear once Daren appeared.

But Daren did not return. Tanim remembered opening his eyes after his own death, thinking in disoriented despair that he had failed. He remembered stumbling back in horror as he caught sight of his dangling body and how he had curled up in a corner of the attic, unable to tear his eyes away from the awful image. His mother had called to him as the sun rose and the household began to stir. When he did not show for breakfast, then lunch, then supper, the family’s unease mounted to panic and the hunt began. It was Marjorie, his favorite servant, who finally found the shell of flesh and blood Tanim had left behind. Trapped somehow on the border between life and death, he had buried his face in his knees as the young woman screamed, unable to watch the cook and gardener cut his limp body down.

Tanim waited but still Daren did not appear. He wandered the house, fingering the dusty white sheets that covered the antique oak furniture and listening to the answering machine as Daren’s boss called and called, his messages growing more frantic. Something is wrong, he thought. It should not be taking this long. He had woken up immediately; why would it be any different for Daren? But it was different, and standing once more in the dusty attic, Tanim realized with an aching numbness that days had passed. Daren’s body was losing any resemblance to the man Tanim so loved, his striking silver hair dull with grease, dark eyes blank and filmed with dust. Mourning, Tanim retreated to his corner of the attic and buried his face in his knees as he once had over a hundred years ago, weeping with the crushing knowledge that he had failed again, that he was now utterly and completely alone.

[ Continuation/alternate ending ]

And so he remained, sunk so deep in catatonia that he barely recognized the sounds of intruders entering the house on the main floor. He only raised his head when the police officers reached his attic, one gagging at the rotten smell of decomposition while the other solemnly shook his head. They cut Daren down without ceremony, unaware of the wayward spirit which trailed them to the top of the stairs and watched in grief borne numbness as they struggled to ease the body of his once lover down the steep attic steps. Then the trap door swung shut and silence reigned once again.

Tanim felt like he had only ever been this flickering wraith waiting in the dark, trapped in death as he had been trapped in life. Only this time there really was no escape, at least none that he could see, and he envied Daren’s freedom. Raging suddenly, he wondered whether it had been a choice, whether he had somehow chosen to stay – or if Daren had chosen to go. But why? Why would he abandon Tanim now after promising the specter so much? Tanim railed against the unjustness of it all, shaking the foundations of his ancient house and tearing at the seams of his self-made prison, raising a racket no one would hear.

Just as he was about to throw himself at the walls of the attic again, a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his waist from behind, pulling him back against a strong chest. Tanim stilled at the firm embrace, turning his head to stare straight into a familiar pair of blank shadowed eyes. “D-darling?” He stuttered in disbelief and sagged weakly against the other man. “That’s enough histrionics from you, Tanim,” Daren murmured back, giving him a thin smile. “It’s okay now. I’m here.”

“But how? You were gone, not a trace of you left. I’d know, I looked for you everywhere. I waited, I did, but you were gone and I was alone again, you left me behind and I couldn’t follow, I was so alone…” Tanim rambled without pause, frenetic eyes scanning every bit of Daren that he could see. His gaze finally lighted on a faint purple line just visible beneath Daren’s pale neck. “Oh…” He raised one hand tentatively up to brush his fingers against the mark. The flesh beneath his touch was cold as ice.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now and I won’t leave you again,” Daren’s words fell flat, his voice dulled by an odd note of finality. Of course it matters, Tanim thought, searching his lover’s eyes for some hint as to where he had been, what had kept him away so long. But he let well enough alone. After all, he would have plenty of time to question Daren later.

[ This is a story written by my best friend/soul mate in all things nerdy, Stacy, who also wrote "An Afternoon In" after I complained about not knowing how to write a proper fight scene. This untitled story is of a decidedly different flavor, and it is all kinds of wicked wonderful. ]

Daren pulled his tired body up the stairs to the main floor of the house. It had been a long night at the bar, even longer than usual after a brawl broke out over one man’s string of luck at the pool tables. Daren had spent the last hour cleaning up split pool cues and fragments of broken glass, finally clocking out at 3:30 and driving the twenty minutes it took to get home in a haze of street lights and rain. Standing at the top of the stairs, Daren glanced around his unlit living room, his grandmother’s set of antique oak furniture looming darkly in the faint glow of the streetlight outside. A davenport sat against the far wall, its rich scarlet fabric barely visible in the scant light from the window.

“Long night?” Daren started at the voice, turning to look at the man standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Tanim…” Daren breathed, “Uh, yeah. There was a fight. I had to clean up.”

“Tch,” said Tanim, moving forward and placing his hand on Daren’s cheek. “Animals. You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“No, I’m fine. Dave broke it up. Chucked ‘em all out on their asses, too! Straight into a giant puddle,” Daren’s heart leaped as Tanim quirked a small smile.

“Well, you’re home now,” Tanim’s right hand slipped down to Daren’s left and began tugging him in the direction of the stairs to the bedroom. “After the move, you’ll never have to worry about that job again. Let’s go to bed.”

Reaching the master bedroom, Tanim made a bee line for the large four-poster oak bed, peeling back the duvet and climbing under it. Daren toed off his sneakers, unzipping his leather jacket and setting it on a chair by the bureau. Stripping off his t-shirt and jeans and dropping them to the floor, he stopped at the edge of the bed and stared. The weak moonlight from the window glanced off of Tanim’s deep black hair, illuminating the pale skin of his face. If Daren concentrated, he could just make out a faint smudge under Tanim’s chin, a line that disappeared into his hair.

“Darling?” Daren’s eyes snapped up to find Tanim looking at him with wide eyes.

“Nothing,” Daren mumbled, pulling the covers back and climbing onto the soft mattress. Reaching across the space, Daren pulled Tanim’s clothed body to him, burying his face in the soft black hair and closing his eyes. “Just thinking…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Daren finally breached consciousness as the noonday sun shown into his face. Blinking his eyes in sluggish exhaustion, he instinctively reached across the bed to pull Tanim back into his arms, only to encounter cold, empty sheets. Daren’s eyes snapped open and he lunged into a seated position, the sheets pooling softly in his lap. Turning to his left, Daren finally spotted the black-clothed figure of his lover seated on the bench by the large bay window.

“Something wrong, darling?” Tanim queried without turning his head from the gray murk of the outside. There was silence for a moment, and Daren swallowed harshly as Tanim finally turned his pale face to meet Daren’s.

“No…nothing’s wrong. Just…thought you had left. It’s nothing,” Daren stammered. Tanim gave Daren a thin smile, warmth sparking in his normally blank stare. Standing with a dancer’s grace, Tanim moved over to climb on the bed and crawl into Daren’s lap. Daren moved automatically to embrace him, resting his cheek on the cool crown of Tanim’s head.

“Today, Darling. It’s time, don’t you think,” Tanim craned his neck up to gaze with naked vulnerability into Daren’s eyes. Resolutely keeping his gaze from wandering down to the faint smudge of bluish-black, Daren gazed back into Tanim’s dark eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, today.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Daren stood at the kitchen sink finishing dishes and looking out into the leaden gloom of his back yard. Tamin clung to his back, arms like vices around his waist, humming softly under his breath. Daren breathed deeply, concentrating on the feel of Tanim’s thin, cold body lifting with the swell of his chest.

“Are you ready yet? It’s almost 2:00, Darling. We must be done by 3:30. Darling, it must be 3:30,” Tanim rambled, never moving his head from Daren’s back, but tightening his arms with every second. Daren finished rinsing the final dish (his father’s mug, he noted absently) and placed in on the rack to dry. Gently disengaging Tanim from his waist, Daren turned around and leaned back against the sink, placing his hands on Tanim’s shoulders and pulling him forward until they were slotted together from the chest down.

“One more time, Tanim? Please…?” Daren moved his tanned hands up to Tanim’s ashen face, thumbing the blue circles under his blank eyes. Tanim gazed back, eyes flicking back and forth before leaning in to place a cool, chaste kiss on Daren’s chapped lips.

“Anything, Darling. But we must be done by 3-” Daren silenced him with a rough, possessive kiss. Crushing him against his chest, Daren dragged Tanim around and in the direction of the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~

Standing on one of his grandmother’s oak dining room chairs, Daren glanced quickly out the attic window then turned his eyes back to Tanim’s. He could detect a slightly manic edge in Tanim’s normally blank gaze, something strong and desperate coloring his movements.

“Only a few moments, Darling, just a few. Everything will be alright, you’ll see. Just a few moments, the timing must be right,” Tanim reached out distractedly to adjust the sleeves on Daren’s black turtle-neck sweater. Daren captured Tanim’s wandering hands in his warm, tanned ones, ducking his head as much as he could until Tanim turned his eyes to meet Daren’s.

“Yes love, everything will be alright,” Daren mumbled gently as the Westminster tune tolled from the grandfather clock downstairs. “I’ll see you in a moment,” Daren whispered softly, and hooked his foot around the leg of the chair.

[ My roommate Erika wrote this story about a year ago. I laugh my ass off every time I read it. I guess this is Tanim and Daren from a psychology major's perspective. It's probably more realistic than anything I write. ]

Tanim was really worried about Daren. He had been acting so weird lately, talking to himself and speaking of weird things; sometimes he was even incomprehensible. He seemed so far away and distant. He kept talking about death, how it was inevitable for everyone, how everyone dies alone. Sometimes he would get worked up, flitting around rambling about death, timing, and responsibility. Most of it didn’t make any sense. The thing that really concerned Tanim, though, was the fact that on some occasions Daren would work himself up into such an intense frenzy that he started to talk about people whose time needed to come, and that it was his divine responsibility to carry this out. This had only happened once or twice, though, so Tanim didn’t know what to think of it quite yet. He decided to wait it out; perhaps Daren was just so stressed out because he got fired from his sales job. The next day Tanim went to work as usual. He had gone to bed without saying a word to Daren – he was just so distant these days. Tanim was working on some spread sheets when he suddenly got a important call from the police. They said that he needed to come down into the city right away because Daren was rampaging the streets, attacking people and claiming he was the angel of death. He had killed an elderly woman, severely injured a young man, and had nearly captured a young child. The police had chased him up to the top of a building where he was holding hostage some bankers that he claimed needed to go and was threatening to push them off the building. The police needed Tanim to come and help them reason with Daren. Tanim was shocked: he never thought it would go this far. The angel of death? That sounded ridiculous. He raced down to where Daren was holding the bankers. When he got there Daren had already tried to push one guy off the building but had failed. Daren was dressed in an over sized black sheet that he had wrapped around himself in some bad attempt to make it look like a cloak and was holding the fake scythe they had bought one year for Halloween.

“Daren!” Tanim yelled, “Its me! What are you doing!? Come down here, please, let these people go! You are not the angle of death!”

“Yes I am! IAMTHEANGLEOFDEATHTHTHTHTHTHHH!” Daren said, clearly out of his mind. As he said this he shoved the closest guy to him off the roof to his impending death.

“NO! DAREN!” But it was to late. The police had already had enough and shot Daren with their taser guns. He bounced up and down to the shocks and then fell limp on the ground. Tanim raced to his side. “Oh Daren what has become of you!”

Daren was immediately taken to a hospital. Although he would have been tried, it was recognized that he was clinically insane and diagnosed with schizophrenia with illusions of grandeur. It was too bad, really, because it would have been pretty bad ass had he been the angel of death, but alas that is impossible and instead he was just insane and had to remain in a mental hospital for the rest of his life. Tanim went on to find a less fucked up partner, and he came to realize that he was tired of having to take care of Daren anyway. Besides, Eduardo was so much better in bed and a good cook.

The end.

(A few months ago I was complaining that I wanted to write a fight scene but had no idea how, so my best-friend/soul-mate-in-all-things-geeky Stacy wrote one really quickly for me. This is that story, and it makes me laugh my ass off. Posting for shits and giggles. XD Enjoy.)

“An Afternoon In”

They stare at each other in stunned silence, neither quite believing Tanim’s thoughtless words. The clock ticks like a bomb above the sink, sounding a cheery tune as the hour-hand reaches 3:00, only to be drowned out with Daren’s angry cry. Blindly grabbing his glass of Crown from the counter, he throws it at a startled Tanim, who quickly dodges to the left. The glass smashes against the wall, whiskey and ices cubes flying in every direction, staining the pristine white of the wall and raining down on Tanim’s arms held above his head. Slowly standing from his crouch, Tanim turns dark gray eyes on Daren.

With a growl, he rushes around the island and fists Daren by the collar, slamming him up against the navy blue accent wall. A silver frame holding a picture of the two of them at the beach last summer falls to the ground, glass shattering with a loud crash. Tanim shoves his forearm into Daren’s neck, furiously staring into his lover’s eyes as the other chokes and gasps. Suddenly, Daren gives a little smirk, the side of his mouth lifting slightly as his knee comes up and collides solidly with Tanim’s groin. With a yelp, Tanim releases Daren and falls to the ground.

Daren gasps for breath and rubs his throat, then reaches down and grabs Tanim by his black hair, turning his face up and staring into his pain filled eyes. With another smirk, Daren leans down and kisses Tanim roughly, then violently smashes his fist into Tanim’s left cheek, dropping him to the ground. As Daren moves to punch him again, Tanim kicks out wildly and knocks Daren to the ground. Grabbing the cast-iron frying pan off the stove above his head, Tanim backhands Daren across the side of his face just as he starts to rise. Daren’s head smashes into refrigerator, blood streaming from his mouth and from a gash above his eyebrow. With a roar Tanim lunges on top of the stunned Daren, straddling his stomach and hitting whatever surface he can reach. Daren throws a hand out and catches Tanim’s fist clutching the frying pan, slamming it repeatedly against the refrigerator until his fingers release the heavy pan. Rearing back, Daren throws all of his weight into a fierce head-butt, then flattens his palm and cuts it up under Tanim’s chin. Rolling out from under his stunned lover, Daren leaps to his feet and moves back a few paces to the opposite side of the island. Tanim struggles to his feet, blood now streaming from his mouth and nose.

Their eyes meet across the island, Tanim’s lips curled into a growl and Daren’s into an amused smile. The only sound is the slow ticking of the clock, and the chirping of oblivious birds outside the sunny kitchen window. Leisurely lifting a hand, Daren makes a fist, then coils his forefinger into a beckoning gesture. With a rage-filled cry, Tanim grabs a dripping plate from the sink and throws it at Daren, who dodges. The sound of shattering porcelain and broken gasps fills the dusty air, until Daren flings a hand out and catches a flying blue and white plate. As if throwing a Frisbee, Daren tosses the plate back, hitting Tanim squarely in the neck. Clutching his windpipe, Tanim can’t move fast enough to avoid Daren as he leaps onto the island, then down on him, knocking him to the ground again. Daren grabs the hair at the back of his head and starts to drag him to the living room.

Unwilling to admit defeat, Tanim grabs a piece of glass from the broken picture frame and blindly slashes at the arm fisting his hair. With a cry Daren releases him, and Tanim throws the glass piece at him, slicing him across the right cheek as Daren turns his head to avoid it. There is stunned silence for a moment, Daren staring at the floor, blood dripping from his face to the linoleum below. Turning his head back to Tanim, he stares at him, eyes no longer amused. He reaches out and grabs Tanim’s hair again, ignoring his pain filled cries and continuing into the living room. Kicking the coffee table out of the way, Daren releases Tanim, shoving him to the floor and falling on top of him. They stare at each other for a moment, then Tanim lunges up, covering Daren’s bloody mouth with his own. Daren savagely rips his white t-shirt off as Tanim’s hands reach for his zipper.

* * * * *

Smoke twists and coils into the hazy air of the darkened living room, drifting up from the cigarette in Daren’s red-stained left hand. His other arm is curled around the naked shoulders of a content Tanim, whose bloody head lays peacefully on Daren’s bruised chest. Daren shifts a bit as a piece of the busted coffee table digs painfully into his back, and Tanim flicks a piece of wood off of Daren’s chest, adding to the mass of broken furniture, china, glass and stuffing from the ripped couch littering the floor.

“Well,” says Daren, “that was a productive afternoon, no?”