From somewhere in the manor, a deep bell rung. Much like a church bell, but this one carried through copper pipes to echo into each room and hallway, even the deep, waterproofed basements. Even in this room, cut off from the rest of them in the highest levels of the home, near the source of the ringing---the bells in the tower that could be heard for only a block, if one was outside. He only heard it after he woke up, however. His head was ringing in a different manner, high and frustrating, and his skull felt as if it were split in half. It had been just moments before, and now the only thing that indicated half his skull and brain matter had been blown away was the flood of dark red blood down the back and shoulders of his shirt. The room spun when he tried to stand, and he staggered in a drunken manner to the door, pulling it open and slamming it shut when he thrust himself into the hallway.

As he locked it, stowing the key and its long chain in a pocket, Daren rubbed his head and felt the warm, wet sensation of blood clumping up his dark red hair. "Disgusting habit you have there." A condescending voice echoed in his head, and he turned, nearly losing his balance and falling without help from the wall. He glared at the black cat---Atticus---that sat in the middle of the hall.

"Who asked you, anyway?" His speech was still slurred, but it would fade soon enough. "I was blowing off some steam."

"Curious way to 'blow off steam'." Atticus stood and followed, yellow eyes glimmering in the dim hall lights. "Most people just drink the frustration away and get similar results."

Daren rolled his eyes, making his way downstairs and closely tailed by the dark cat. He was moving toward the bathroom when the phone rang, calling to him. Sighing, he went down the next flight of stairs to the ground floor, going to the entryway to pick up the wall phone. "Huh?" He barely had the energy to form words yet, but few people had his home phone number. One of the few that did, however, he worked for. The police. They needed him.

He hung up after reassuring him that he'd be there in no more than an hour, then turned to find Atticus with a brush. "Might want to comb a little of that blood out of your hair before trusting a shower." He noted, setting the item down. "Easier."

Daren snatched up the brush and stalked away, up the stairs to the nearest bathroom.

He had only been on Snow Island for a week, and already he was in trouble. Who would have thought that there were laws on the island against killing oneself in public? Or maybe the police that arrested him thought that they were doing him a favour. When they looked at him, they saw a troubled youth, wearing formal attire. Perhaps they thought he had run away from home, dressed ready for his funeral. In any case, the two police officers that drove him to the station thought that he was simply a misbehaving human.

Except that he wasn't entirely human.

David was over a thousand years old, though he had become tired of trying to explain his immortality to those he met. During his long life, he had been arrested, put to death and locked away in asylums for years at a time. Then he would be forgotten and able to start his life somewhere else. He had been on every continent, experienced many wars, seen Kings and Queens die and watched the progress of humanity. Many people would see his curse as a blessing, something he had thought for the first hundred years, until he realised something. He couldn't die. He watched his entire family line become extinct and any friends he made became old and died while he lived on.

Perhaps that wouldn't be the case on Snow Island, refugee for many supernatural creatures that lived for a long time. He had heard about the island over a century ago, and only just decided it was time to try and live there. Maybe he could make friends with a vampire or other immortal. Then he would be happy.

He smiled weakly at the two that drove him towards his destination. These two weren't human either. The driver was wrapped in bandages, wearing shades, an overcoat and a hat. David wondered what he was hiding underneath all of those layers. The passenger, a kind lady that he coaxed him off the rails of the bridge, was obviously a vampire. David could tell from her pale skin and visible sharp teeth.

They finally pulled into the parking lot of a large, flash building. David guessed that it was the police station, because he could see many more police cars parked around them. The police woman got out of her seat, opening the door for him. "I'm sorry, sweetie, you'll have to stay in those handcuffs until we get inside... We don't want you running off and getting hurt."

David kept his head down as she helped him out of the car and led him into the police station.

The just-below-scalding water falling on his head felt like hundreds upon hundreds of years sliding down his back and dripping into the drain. The island he and several million others stood upon had been colonized before America, then left alone after they became fifty. Snow Island was independent of any country---a country in itself, even if no one acknowledged it. The inhabitants of the island were fine with that. Among regular humans that called the place home, so did a variety of other races. Vampires, werewolves, spry fae-like beings, demonic and angelic-based races that adopted the terms 'angel' and 'demon' for the sake of convenience, succubi and incubi, a variety of humans inclined to the use of magics that were normally reserved for fairy tales. And then there was Daren. Infected by a demon long, long ago and saved through the extraction of his soul. Only after he recovered did he realize that there was no way to get his soul back.

He sighed as the red water falling from his body and hair grew clear, and he cleaned himself of the smell before stepping out and meeting the gaze of a sleek black cat. "I didn't even see you come in!" He growled, grabbing a towel from the wall. "Were you here the whole time!?"

"I was indeed." Atticus purred lightly, finding a comfortable perch on the toilet tank. "Curious habit you have when you're alone and not murdering yourself. Do you often think of your half life while being boiled?"

Daren sighed, drying his hair roughly and shaking it at Atticus, whose hair rose a little. "Get out!"

"But why? You never even knew I was here before!" Atticus was shooed to the floor, then ushered out of the door while Daren retrieved his clothes and pulled them on somewhat hastily. He had only half an hour to get to the central district, where the station was, and at about this time traffic was difficult to work through. He shoved his feet into some brown shoes---a match to the brown shirt that seemed a little too large for him---and ran down the stairs, not even pausing to search for Atticus. He had his ways of getting in and out of the house, and Daren had a suicide attempt to investigate.

David was taken through the busy offices to a small dark room, where he was made to sit at a low table. He wanted to be un-handcuffed, but that didn't seem to be an option just then. He waited for someone to come into the room, aware that people were probably watching him closely from behind the one-way mirror. The vampire lady that had brought him there entered the room, holding a glass of water. She was closely followed by a large man in a suit that had obvious horns and a smaller man, another vampire.

"Honey, this is Detective Field," she gestured to the large, demonic man. "And Doctor Tell. They want to talk to you for a little bit, okay?" She smiled as she took the handcuffs off him and let him drink some of the water, before leaving him alone with the two people. David expected an interrogation, but what followed was a kind and almost caring conversation.

"What is your name?" the Detective asked him, holding a notepad and pen. His voice didn't suit his formidable appearance at all, it seemed very wary and tired.

"David Wells," David replied, having been through similar interrogations before.

"And your age, David?"

"Well, I lost track around my 256th birthday," he replied quietly, staring down at the glass of water. He could feel them exchange glances, as though they didn't believe him.

"Where are your parents, David?" the vampire spoke now, sounding concerned. This 'Doctor' must be the psychiatrist, David thought darkly to himself, He must think I am insane.

"Dead," he replied matter-of-factly. He no longer felt sad that he had to watch them die, as well as his 5 brothers and 2 sisters. "They died a few hundred years ago."

He watched them look at each other again, and then back at him. It seemed that they believed him. The Detective shifted slightly. "Where do you live?" he asked David, as the Doctor got up and left the room. Probably to go talk to someone about him. David replied by simply shrugging his shoulders.

"Do you have your papers on you? Your documents?" Detective Field inquired, his voice sounding very tense all of a sudden. David shook his head. The demon sighed and left the room as well, leaving David alone in the dark room with no windows.

There was no real shortcut Daren could take to get to the heart of the central district faster than usual. He had to slough his way through a hot morning, with people that seemed to hate moving. He arrived in the cool underground parking garage twenty minutes later than he'd promised, and was met with a set of flashing green-blue eyes under a head of messy brown hair. Matthew Black, usually considered Daren's partner in the field, whatever field that might be. He was part vampire, an attack several years ago leaving him with only a small amount of vampirism in his veins, giving him a perchance for blood but needing food to survive. "You're late."

"I'm never late." Daren grinned at the man, brushing past him and going to the elevator. "I arrived right on time!"

"You said an hour!"

"Our watches must be out of sync."

"Or yours is slow..."

Daren chuckle as Matt accompanied him to the elevator and headed up, the beeping floor numbers passing quietly between them. Daren was silent, as he usually was in an elevator even populated by close friends. He just didn't have many friends, if any at all he'd admit to. They stepped out into the hall and headed down the hallway. "He's in room six." Matt said. "Looks kinda young but... hell, in this day you figure you got a teenager and they're really thirty years old..."

Daren laughed. "True enough. Why'd they call me in?"

"Thought you might be able to talk to him... He's been pretty quiet so far, and otherwise he doesn't seem to be telling the truth."

"Found him on...?"

"Bridge heading into South District. Surprised anyone found him at all, with that place being the way it is."

"Yeah..." He paused outside interrogation room six and turned to Matt. "Head out. Tell the chief I'm here, got it?" Matt nodded, jogging down the hall and to the right. Daren stepped through the door, taking in the sight. He looked somewhat young, but he was sure everyone had exaggerated quite a bit. Closing the door securely, Daren took the seat across from him.

"So I heard we got a jumper. You must be the guy." He folded his hands loosely on the table. "What makes you want to jump off a bridge? Especially here, I mean."

David was staring blankly at a potted plant that sat near the door when someone came in to the room. He jerked out of his daydreaming state and blinked at the new comer and his sudden question. He sounded as though he had other places to go, other people to talk to, and that David was just an annoyance. David frowned and returned his gaze at the pot plant, wondering how old it was. There was a tree that was planted when he was born, near where he had lived. He never thought he would out live it.

He shrugged at the question, a little annoyed at how rude this man sounded. "People usually introduce themselves before asking questions," David said with a sniff. "And I wasn't going to die... I just... I like the feeling..." Well, did he? He had become addicted to suicide. That was something strange to say out loud.

Daren snorted, shaking his head. "Maybe they do introduce themselves, but I'm not the usual person. Anyway, I'm Daren Snow, call me Daren. Now... That bridge stands over sixty feet above the ocean. And under there it's pretty rough. You sound pretty sure that you won't die." He followed the young man's gaze to the plant, then back, waving his gaze back around to Daren. "So, is it the feeling of near death you like, or... actual death? If it's the latter, then I'd have to assume you have remarkable regenerative abilities. Or... maybe there's something you're just not telling us. Telling me."

He positioned himself to where he couldn't be avoided. "I'm pretty sure you aren't registered on the island. You look and smell pretty human to me, but there's that... that... old soul in you. Like you're in the wrong skin." He leaned forward. "I can help you if you just spill whatever you're keeping secret. Whatever they don't believe, I probably will."

Daren... Snow...? Where had David heard that name before...? Of course, this man's family owned this island. He wondered what he was doing talking to a suicidal human teenager. Surely he had more important things to attend to. His stare was forced away from the plant and towards the man. His eyes locked with his and suddenly, he saw something similar. This man was like him, he was certain of that.

"I'm not hiding anything. No one has asked me anything worth answering. But seeing you have to know my life story... Well, an abridged version of it, I'll tell you. My name is David Wells, I was born sometime in 600AD. My father was a woodsman and accidentally killed the daughter of a witch, who cursed his first born son. I was that son, nearing the age of becoming a man. The curse made it so I couldn't age or die in any way. So I have lived through thousands of years, seeing the extinction of my own family because of this curse. I was on the bridge because I like the rush of death, as though it might actually work for once. I have tried everything and nothing works. Poison, car collision, decapitation, drowning, suffocation... you name it, I have tried it." He took a deep breath and stared hard at Daren.

"I came to this island after years of trying to get courage to come here. I have no papers, I am not registered. I suppose you are going to throw me out now?" He tilted his head and crossed his arms.

Daren twitched a little. There was a sense of deja vu in what the young man said. And that sense grew with every moment he remained where he was, every moment the door outside remained closed. "So, David Wells." He said after a moment. "Sounds like we're just meant to be. See, I can't remember when I was born. A long, long time ago. Too long, really. Longer than the Americas. I watched the death of my family because I should have died long before my parents, even. We were always a rather aristocratic bunch, and one day a beggar demon that once thought himself to have been slighted by my family cursed me with a deadly parasite. I was saved by a... a stranger than owed my family a favor. He took my soul to save my life, but I was unaware that, now being soulless, I can't die either. I've been 'killed' hundreds of times. From accidents to murder to self inflicted suicides, I've tried it all. And as you might have already assumed, I'm the last Snow. I was stupid enough once to have children, and watched them all die too."

He stood. "I'm not kicking you off the island. But any time you want to off yourself, don't do it in public. Go to South District and have a druggie shoot you if anything, but first thing's first: You're getting registered. It's necessary, or I'll have to have you put in jail until I can come to a different, more energy-dissolving solution. What do you want?" He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall between the one-way window and door. What could he do now? He wouldn't let the kid go without registration. He couldn't just let the guy go without an idea of where to go---what to do. Especially now that he had someone to relate to. Someone that couldn't die, no matter how much they wanted it.

David's focus shifted back towards the plant. He shrugged off Daren's question. He didn't know what he wanted. He had no where else to go, so it was obvious that he had to be registered. But what did that mean? He glanced back at Daren, who seemed to be watching him closely.

"I'll be registered..." he replied finally. "But only if you come with me. I am sick of explaining myself to people that don't believe me." And maybe... Maybe Daren could be his friend. They could live forever together.

Daren smiled. "Sure I'll go with you. I intended to do that from the beginning---can't let these people manhandle you." He opened the door and stepped out, and was immediately cut off by the office psychiatrist, Benny Holland. "Mr. Snow, I greatly recommend he go under mental evaluation for at least twenty four hours---"

"Were you listening in on our conversation?" Daren asked pointedly, ushering David out of the dark room.

"Erm, well, no..."

"Then shush. Go back to filing your murderers."

Benny stepped forward. "But, er..." He leaned forward, enough to barely whisper to Daren. "... what about his... er... classification?"

"It'll be detailed in his documents when he becomes a citizen of this island, Holland."

"But he'll need a guardian signature to d-do..."

"Holland."

The man nodded shakily, moving off with a quick glance to David. Daren sighed, leading the young man down the hall. "He does have a point, actually." He said, glancing back to the younger man. "Since there's no record of you, no doubt, the first concept people will jump on is 'juvenile'. But we'll document your age as well as a contact---I'll be that contact---so you can be an independent man, if you'd prefer that." It was on shaky ground, really. He didn't know what David wanted, so every possibility was open.

David followed Daren out of the room and waited patiently while another psychiatrist berated the man. He pretended he couldn't hear what they were saying and as they started forwards again, he thought quietly to himself. What would he be classified as? He wasn't a vampire or a ghost of any sort. He looked up at Daren, wondering what he was called. A Soulless? David was sure he had read something like that in a book of myths. Was he missing his soul too? He didn't know how he could check.

"When I get hurt, I just regenerate..." he started to talk as they walked together. "It still really hurts, and sometimes can take awhile... Do you grow things back...?" He had to move at a steady pace to keep up with the man's strides.

"I don't know what I want... I don't mind being called a child, even though I am not one..." He liked to be cared for, though he hated to admit it.

They stepped into the hallway leading to the elevator alcove as David spoke. "Physical injury doesn't heal immediately when it comes to me." He said after a moment. "Cuts don't heal at an accelerated rate, bullets don't pass through me quickly... I only heal after I'm decidedly killed---when my heart stops beating and my brain stops sending impulses. Then after a time, I wake up... new as ever." There were no scars. No remaining cuts. Even his hair grew back to the same state before death. Or at least, temporary death.

He didn't reply until he and David were in the elevator. "I have an idea." He said, watching the numbers pass by the improved display that had been installed a few years ago. "There's a... a small apartment just next door to my home. It was built just about ten years ago, no one really owns it so I took hold of it in case a friend or witness needs a safe place to stay. I figure you can stay there until you make a decision. I mean, if you decide on anything later. You'll be close by me in case something happens or you need information."

The elevator opened, and they stepped out into a large area. "This is a booking area for low-class, day-to-day offenders." Daren said, leading David through with a hand on his shoulder. "Normally we don't bring people this way, but it's a faster manner to get to the documentation wing." He nodded to the police milling around, recognizing many faces.

David liked the idea of that empty apartment and nodded. It would be nice to have a place to call his own while he figured out what he would do next. Perhaps even get to know Daren a bit more, seeing they had similar "curses", maybe they could be friends? Even though Daren had probably grown unattached to anyone, just as David had learnt to do.

He glanced about the area they walked through, seeing many different beings as both police and the criminals they had brought in for booking. It seemed the majority of the police men and women were vampires, though a few other beings floated around as well. David had difficulty not staring at what looked like a satyr as they left the area and walked down another plain hallway.

"I've noticed that there are a lot of vampires living here... I haven't met so many before I got to this place."

Passing the booking room, Daren nodded here and there to those he had known all their lives. Most being immortal, they had come to the island decades ago and Daren had been one of the first they met. Some were human, and they nodded to him rather solemnly as they were put into holding cells or run through the system. Some were fae-blooded, incubi or succubi, angels or demons. A mishmash of race and nationality mulling through, sometimes resisting the police but being quickly put in their place by the vampires' inhuman strength.

Halfway down the hall, the silence was broken, and Daren nodded slowly. "There are a lot of... everything here. Vampires and werewolves are extensive, and humans know and manipulate magic as well. Certain beings we know as angels and demons because of their extended lives and ability to manipulate either light-based or dark-based magics and power. Beings from various mythologies that at one time were considered pure story and, of course, myth. You saw the satyr? They're among other beings that call this place home and can freely show their real form without fear of being hated or caught as if they're monsters."

He opened the door they nearly passed to the left, and let David in first. This was another, shorter corridor that was carpeted and lit a bit easier. "But I've never... encountered another person that... can't die." He laughed rather bitterly, making it to the wooden door and opening it to a warm, wooden-floored floor plan. Cubicles dotted the center of the room and to the right a photography station was set up. "And here we are! It's a nice place, no? Most public buildings adhere to oak flooring, warm walls, to give it a sense of closeness and calm. I'll help you through the process, it's a bit different here..."