Violence, character death.

December 2003
An alternative ending to the film The Forsaken.

This story is not to be archived without permission.

Day Driver

Is this truly all there is?

In the heat of the never-ending summer, reality has boiled down to the road through the desert, the car that he drives, sleepy-eyed Megan - and Kit, of course.

They each have their roles. Kit is the leader. Megan sleeps, eats, fucks. And Sean, since he can still handle the daylight, does all the hard work.

It's not that bad a deal, actually, but Sean would be a lot happier if he didn't have to listen to them doing it all the time. Day and night, all hours, bang bang bang, oh Kit oh Kit oh Kit...

It wears a guy down.

Sean doesn't know it but Pen used to listen to Kit and Cym the same way too; and though Sean doesn't hate Megan like his predecessor hated Cym, he still thinks of their rutting with the same kind of bitterness.

"Bitch," he mutters, knowing he doesn't mean it, just that he wants it to be his turn, wanting it to be him instead of Megan.


For a moment there I thought it was gonna turn out okay.

Thought we'd blow the motherfucker's head right off in an explosion of gore, Nick slinging his arm around my shoulders saying "it's over man," Megan sobbing with relief in the old lady's arms, and all of us smiling because it was okay, everything was okay, the bad guys were dead and we were still alive, the winners.

We'd look up to the east, the land spread out before us in the light of dawn like a great blank golden book.

"Reckon you'll still be hanging around after I'm done with my sister's wedding?" I'd ask Nick casually as we trudged to the car.

And he'd look up from under his fringe, a smile spreading across those lips, and he'd answer in one word, just a simple "yeah," enough for me to know. We'd drive away together, out of the desert, and never look back.

But that's not how it happened.


Every night, Sean says, "Where are we headed tomorrow?"

Every night, Kit replies, "Wherever the road leads us."

You've got to wonder why Kit bothers to go on. He's been living for how many hundreds of years? And what has he got to show for it?

Just a beat-up car, a girl for a fucktoy, and a boy for a driver (though sometimes Kit fucks the boy too, bent over the hood of the car, down in the dust behind another shoddy motel). The names might change from time to time - Pen passing to Sean, Cym followed by Megan - but it's still not much.

And above and beyond and stretching to the horizon, it's always the same: desert, heat, road, sky.


So Nick lay dead on the ground beside me, and on the porch Ina was dying, and inside the house Megan was screaming for someone to help her, pleeeease, Sean he's gonna kill meeeeee--

By then I'd already given up.

"Kill me," I said to Kit then, laughing the words, spreading my arms wide and careless, "kill me."

But Kit just sneered. "Kill you?" he replied contemptously. He swaggered closer and shoved the car keys against my bloodied lips, into my slack and open mouth. "Who said anything about killing?"

Then he grabbed the collar of my shirt, pulled me close, like he was learning my scent. "You'll be my new day driver." He licked a drop of blood from my chin, drew back, and smiled. "At least until you turn."

I spat the keys into my hand as he turned away and loped into the house, easy and graceful as a wolf, and a moment later Megan's cries became silence.

Then I ran my tongue across the cut on my mouth, recalling the heat in his eyes, and went to wait by the car.


Another town, another motel, and Sean asks again, "Where are we headed tomorrow?"

But Kit's not listening. "Get down," he says, his voice a low burr, hands tugging at Sean's waist, "Get down on your knees, I want you to suck me. And, boy," he adds, looking down with a small smile, "use your teeth."


For a moment there I thought it was gonna turn out okay.

Sometimes, I think it kinda did.



[Rowan's Fanfiction]

Disclaimer: The Forsaken and associated characters are entirely and utterly not my property. This is a non-profit fanwork, completely unaffiliated and benign.