.:Author's Note:. This is an edited, re-written, and finally complete version of this story, after several years on hiatus. I apologize for the lapse, and hope this version will be much more enjoyable to read. Cheers!

Beast Syndrome

Chapter One

...

The music pumped loudly through the club, heavy and pulsating like a living creature. It was hot, humid, and sweat trickled down my neck into my shirt and soaked my hair. The pretty blond on my lap giggled and shouted something in my ear, but I couldn't understand her over the haze of the alcohol and pounding bass. John touched my shoulder and jerked his head toward the exit. I nodded and threw back the last of my gin and tonic. The girl protested as I stood, cherry lips pouting, and I kissed her cheek in apology.

"Next time, sweetheart," I yelled over the music. John dragged me away, half supporting me out of the club. I waved at Christi, the pretty admissions clerk, before being buffeted by the sudden cold of the night air. My breath misted before my face, ears still pounding from the music.

"Christ, Sean, can you even stand on your own?" Amanda laughed, running into me. She was as drunk as I was.

"'M fine," I muttered, pushing John off me. He made a sarcastic remark which I asked him to repeat.

"That poor girl back there was clearly hoping for something," John said instead.

"Well, she can get in line."

"Heart breaker."

"It wasn't my heart she was after, John," I clarified. Hang snorted to my left, and laughed as she ran to catch up with a veering Amanda.

"I want Bob's Donuts," Hang declared.

"That's way out on Polk," Trevor yelled back.

"It's not that far," she insisted. "Coupl'a blocks."

We stumbled down the sidewalk, occasionally swerving onto the street. I abruptly stopped and glanced around.

"Oh, I know this place. I'm gonna head home, guys," I said.

"Yo, you sure that's cool?" John asked, placing a hand on my shoulder to keep me from swaying. "You can barely stand, Sean."

"I'll be fine, John," I insisted, pushing off his hand. "My place is like… three blocks from here. Look, that's Freddy's Supermarket. And Antonio's is right down the street, remember? Great fucking Mexican."

"Sure, whatever," John groused. Amanda and the others were giggling and shrieking a block ahead already. "Stay safe. Call me when you get home."

"Yes sir." I saluted, glanced groggily both ways, and jogged across the main road. The streets were fairly quiet this late, even on a Friday night. The main road was lit by streetlamps, but the smaller cross street I was walking along was dark. I stumbled on a few cracks in the pavement, and resorted to walking along the middle of the street. I hummed as I walked, the gin still keeping me warm and elated. I recognized a narrow street to my left – a shortcut – and passed through it, skipping unsteadily around a poorly-parked car.

The next block was well-lit. Something flickered in the corner of my vision and I stopped, glancing to my right. I squinted into the dark and saw nothing. I continued walking. Despite the alcoholic fuzzies, something felt off. My neck began to prickle, and dark shapes loomed out of the darkness wherever I looked. I shook my head and continued walking. Someone grunted behind me, and I heard the clatter of something hitting asphalt.

I stopped abruptly, and heard the echo of footsteps behind me falter.

I turned around, and there were two men visible under the glare of the streetlight. I wondered if there were others in the darkness. I opened my mouth to yell at them to fuck off when one of them collapsed onto the ground. The other turned towards the sound, pulling out a gun. I stumbled back in shock - there's nothing like the nozzle of a glistening black handgun to snap you to sobriety – and another figure emerged from the darkness. This one was different – it moved quickly and fluidly, and slammed into the second man. A shot rang out in the darkness, then several more. The figure moved, whirling like a storm, but I didn't see where it went. My body jerked, pain blossoming in my chest. I was stumbling back again, but this time my legs had gone numb. I raised a hand to my chest, and it was shaking and came back red.

"Oh," I choked as I fell. "Well shit."

…

When I awoke, it was to a throbbing headache. I groaned and forced my eyes to crack open, just enough to allow a bit of light.

I blinked and allowed my eyes to adjust. Instead of my usual dark-blue, I was greeted by a dull, gray ceiling someone had hardly bothered to plaster properly, flecks of paint wearing away in several patches. A cheap white ceiling fan whirred slowly and noisily, its rhythmic pulsing somehow comforting. A very familiar and nauseating scent filled my lungs. Cigarettes.

I raised a hand to rub at my heavy lids. My entire body ached, and I heard my shoulder pop as I moved my arm. A flicker to my right caught my attention, and I turned my head against the thick pillow beneath my head. Some guy I was sure I'd never met sat beside the futon I lay on, staring at me while pressing a lit cigarette to his mouth.

He made for an interesting sight – brown eyes so light they looked gold, olive-tanned skin, and shaggy blond hair pulled back with a rubber band. He wore simple white shirt and a pair of worn blue jeans, both of which appeared several sizes too large for him. A cheap plastic red watch looped around his wrist, ticking loudly. He drew his hand from his mouth, exhaling slowly a jet of thin gray smoke which curled lazily through the heavy air. His face was strikingly handsome in an angular kind of way, with sharp cheekbones and a long straight nose ending in soft lips.

My stomach decided to speak for me. The stranger must have noticed because he suddenly smiled from behind his cigarette, plucked it from his lips, and stood up in a single elegant movement. He walked barefoot from the room, leaving the door half open behind him. I shifted slightly. My body felt slow and heavy, as if I were lying in a pool of lukewarm water rather than air. Confusion addled my brain, so I breathed deeply and searched my memories.

I remembered going to the club with a few friends to celebrate the weekend. I remembered leaving the club, and diverging on my own. And I remembered the dark figures and five ringing shots that echoed down the street.

I cried out and lurched upright, my hand automatically jerking to my chest, in hindsight a poor move. A splitting pain burst through my temple. I yelped and leaned forward, clutching the sides of my head with my hands. When the throbbing finally began to recede, I released the breath I'd been holding and sighed into the palms of my hands.

"Y'alright?"

My head snapped up irritably, only to see Blondie leaning against the doorway carrying a tray with a plate of food and a glass of orange juice in one hand, and a half-finished cigarette in the other. He padded over, dodging the mess of strewn clothes lying about the floor, ends of his loose-fitting jeans hissing as they dragged along the floorboards. He placed the tray beside the bed and settled cross-legged beside me, leaning against the wall next to a small wooden dresser. He flicked his cigarette above a small blue stone ashtray half-filled with gray ash and cigarette butts, watching me quietly.

"Eat," he said pointedly as he snuffed the head of his cigarette in the ashtray. I muttered a word of thanks and devoured the four syrup-soaked waffles on the plate, washing them down with a cool glass of orange juice. Though coffee would could have been nice at this point, I wasn't complaining. I managed to finish it all and regain my breath.

"So," I started. I wasn't really sure what to begin with. Who are you? Where am I? The fuck happened?

As if anticipating my questions, he began providing answers of his own. "Well," he began, voice smooth and deep, "I found you last night dead drunk in the middle of the street, so I brought you over to my place. You've been out for almost two days."

That woke me up.

"Two… two fucking days?"

"Well, it was Friday night when I picked you up. Its Sunday morning now," he checked his watch. "About half past nine. That must've been one hell of a hangover."

I leaned back against the wall. My mom – my friends – must have been freaking out. Noticing my concern the man shook his head.

"Your mother called yesterday, so I told her you were sick and that I was a friend and took you in," he said, sweeping a stray hair behind his ear. I frowned. Who was this guy to pick up my phone and unflappably make excuses for me? He continued unperturbed. "And as for who I am, I'm deeply wounded that you don't even remember me. I'm in your calculus recitation and lecture."

Something clicked in my head. I remembered now, we did have a tan, long blond haired guy in our calculus recitation class, but he was always seated in the back of the room, usually reading or sleeping. Nobody ever seemed to really notice him. I vaguely remembered working on an assignment with him once, but he hadn't made much of a lasting impression. Well, this did make things a bit less awkward than waking up the house of a complete stranger. Though having a classmate pick me up and care for me drunk was embarrassing as all hell. My fucking friends would never let me live this down if they caught wind.

Suddenly, something struck me. I touched my chest and looked down. It seemed the guy had taken the liberty of depriving me of my shirt and pants. I'm pretty well built and I'm not very self-conscious of my body and all, but having a guy I hardly knew strip me while I slept seemed to me a bit gauche. But the bullet wound from that night was gone, not a scar in sight. I shook my head – what a dream, if that.

"Anyway, I never caught your name," I said, eyeing him from above my glass of orange juice.

"It's Dante Hughens."

I raised an eyebrow. "Dante? As in the Italian poet Dante? The Inferno, Dante?"

His face lit up and his mouth widened into a lopsided grin which somehow suited him very well. "The very same."

"I'm Sean," I returned. "Sean Parker. I'm afraid my parents didn't have the same originality as yours in naming me." His mouth twitched but his smile faded away. I noticed his sudden awkwardness and decided to change the subject.

"Well," I began, "I guess I'd better head home. I've got to study for that calculus midterm on Friday."

He nodded and stood up, grabbing the tray. "I'll get your clothes."

As he left the room, I threw off the quilt and folded my legs together. Something wasn't right. I was sure about the bullet wound yesterday, and yet, my flesh revealed nothing. Maybe, I reasoned, I was thinking about this too seriously. After all, I'd been pretty wasted last night. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if someone had slipped something else in my drink, a hallucinogen or something of the sort. That conniving little blond, for instance. For my first drug trip, it was a pretty shitty experience. To distract myself from the thought, I glanced around.

The room was dark and shabby, with clothes strewn about like spring daisies, and the only source of artificial light in the room appeared to come from a naked, flickering light bulb hanging precariously by a few colorful wires from a hole in the ceiling a foot to the right of the ceiling fan, which also looked ready to plummet. I would have a hard time sleeping at night with that thing running over my head. The only furniture in the room other than his small dresser consisted of a small wooden desk and chair in the far left corner of the room by the door, which was occupied by a mountain of binders, papers, textbooks and worn-down pencils. A small plastic trash bin nudged the legs of the desk, packed with crumpled papers, gum wrappers, and a melancholy-looking empty foam Cup-o-Noodles.

Suddenly I noticed a small, silver suitcase leaning in the left corner of his room, almost covered by a loosely discarded thick black sweater. It looked strangely expensive and out of place in the dank room. I was abruptly shaken from my curiosity as Dante entered the room, my clothes neatly folded in his arms. I felt rather honored, considering he didn't even seem to bother to fold his own clothes. Dante plopped my worn skinny denims, blue zip-up jacket, and t-shirt into my lap, followed by my phone and black leather wallet. I raised the clothes to my face and was surprised to discover that they smelled of lavender soap.

"Did you wash my clothes?" I said, tone accusing.

"They were stinking up the room. And I figured maybe you would rather not be reeking of vodka and sweat when you went home."

"Well, that was awfully nice of you."

Dante grinned. "Just hurry up and get out of my house. I don't enjoy taking care of invalids. I had to sleep on the couch you know."

"Yes sir, sorry sir, you know you could've stuck me on the couch, sir."

He shook his head. "S'alright. Didn't want you falling off if you woke up early."

I flashed a thankful grin and stretched out my body, groaning. After being asleep for two days, every muscle was taunt and aching. I slowly got to my feet, muttering, and Dante turned on his heel, leaving me to change.

I pulled on my denims and shirt, slipping my arms into my jacket without zipping it up. I checked my cell phone and noticed that I'd received two text messages, apart from the dozen or so calls. I opened up the first one, a message from my mother that I should call her when I was heading back, and the other from my friend John wondering if I'd made it back in one piece Friday night ago. I sent him as message reassuring him that I was fine and decided to call my mother when I'd left Dante's place. I pocketed the phone and opened my wallet, checking to make sure my credit card, identification driver's license, and twenty bucks worth of money in ones and fives were still in there. Luckily, nothing had been stolen or tampered with. That meant Dante was either really naïve or really honest. Or he had too much pride to steal from a sleeping guy's wallet.

I thought it only polite for what he'd done for me and quickly made the bed. Once done, I emerged from his bedroom into a small square living room, which was equally stark looking. The only light trickled from a small window on the left wall which inconveniently faced another building, allowing for little light even during the day. A musty, earth brown couch adorned by two pillows faced an old television. A small round table, standing awkwardly on three legs, was placed squarely in the middle of the room behind the couch, two chairs drawn up beneath it. The right corner of the room morphed into a small kitchen, separated only by a jutting counter, on which an old gas stove and a sink was imbedded. The entire apartment appeared to be painted in the same decaying white, crumbling corners and everything.

"Shit I need to pee," I muttered, and Dante pointed me to a door on the wall to the right with an amused grin. I flicked a small switch outside the room and opened the door. The small bulb on the ceiling flickered and turned on, lighting a small square room with a white tiled floor, which accommodated a toilet, sink, and one of those small square showers like the ones you see in cheap motels behind a blue plastic shower curtain. I relieved myself, flushed, and washed my hands with a bar of yellow soap. At least there was a decent sized mirror above the sink, though, unsurprisingly, there was a huge crack in the middle webbing out to the sides, as if something had slammed into the mirror at high velocity. I observed my reflection in one of the shards, running a hand through my mop of short, layered brown hair the color of my eyes. I let my hair grow out from its usual crew-cut since I'd quit basketball. I noticed a small rip in my shirt right above my chest and scowled. I must have snagged it on something at the club or ripped it when I was lying drunk in the street. I sighed, pulled my sweater over the hole, tousled my hair, and left the bathroom, switching off the light.

Dante was leaning idly on the edge of the three legged table as I joined him in the living room. He glanced up.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Yup."

Dante strode over to a large door at the end of the room, motioning towards my black shoes discarded by the entrance. I slipped them on as he slid the chain lock from its place and unlocked the door, opening it and stepping out. I followed him out the door into a narrow, dimly lit hallway perpendicular to the door. Instead of the musty cigarette scent of his room, I was met by a moldy earthy smell, which, though cooler, was still none too pleasant. He closed the door behind me, not bothering to lock it, and walked briskly down a corridor carpeted by a rustic red which silenced Dante's naked footsteps. He turned suddenly and disappeared down a narrow, wooden spiraling staircase. I followed until the steps abruptly ended against a large wooden door. He opened the door, sending a bright stream of sunlight to flood my eyes. I squinted and blinked furiously.

Down a couple stairs and across from the apartment complex was a large, quiet street filled with parked cars and a few bypassing pedestrians. I could hear traffic not too far from here, so I realized we must be close to the downtown area. The air was cool and crisp, and a light breeze from the bay urged me to zip up my jacket, but the sky was a clear blue and the clear sun showed promise.

"There's a muni station three blocks down," Dante said, pointing to the right. I nodded and turned back towards him. He leaned casually against the thick wooden ramp of the steps, arms folded over his chest, holding the large door slightly open with his foot. I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets.

"Well, thanks a bunch man. I mean, really. You saved my ass back there. I could've woken up at the end of two days in the middle of the street butt naked and robbed to the flesh or in a police station getting detained for public indecency."

Dante smiled lightly and waved me off. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Just buy me lunch at school on Monday, alright? And not some cheap cafeteria food either."

"Will do," I promised. "Take care man, and don't make it a habit to go picking up bums off the street alright?" Dante laughed. I jogged down the steps, stepping out into the street towards the bus stop. As I walked, I stole a last glance over my shoulder and thought; 'What a curious guy.'

...